Bad Apple
by GaleSynch
Summary: "Some people just aren't cut out to be heroes, you know?" "I didn't need you to be a hero, I just want you to be my older brother." / It's funny how I'm somehow special enough to be reincarnated in a fictional world, but everything still revolves around Naruto and even I can't fight it. Self-Insert/Anti-hero OC, Rebirth fic. SI-as-Yondaime's son.
1. Review Your History

**Naruto © Masashi Kishimoto**

 _Inspirations:_ Iryo-nin Kasa by Vaengir and Reminiscence by PONPONnyan. Haven't read yet? Go check them out..

 _Warnings:_ AU – canon divergence (like really early on, don't be surprised), violence, deaths, Danzō's ruthless scheming, my take on chakra and how it affects the body, angst of unrequited love (depends), plus the main character going off the deep end. The AU of this story, Rotten Apple where Mirai has been genderbent will be posted on a later date.

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 _ **-BAD APPLE-**_

 **1\. Review Your History**

 _I both hate and love history._

 _I'd never understand why I was blamed for everything that went wrong in the history of Konoha. My bafflement aside, I was damned proud of myself to have made history—even though you won't see or hear anything remotely nice being written about me—because history had painted me quite the glorious reputation._

 _(This depends on your definition of glorious.)_

 _Namikaze Mirai—that's the name you can look up if you're curious about history. The earliest history books would have my name under a subtopic of the Yondaime Hokage's chapter, naturally as I was his son. Later, I'd have an entire chapter—or book, if I was lucky—dedicated to me._

 _It's funny—history I mean. It brought me ironic amusement that no one would know true history as I knew it. The people I see every day would have no idea that I, perhaps generations younger than they, am walking history on the topic of reincarnation, that I was a shred of history of another world. A world where there were no shinobi or chakra; a world where their world was fictional._

 _I had never met another like me. Maybe how I was portrayed set them off, they didn't dare to approach me for fear I'd hurt them._

 _Pity. But I was used to it._

 _Different people will tell you different things about me. If you ask me, the world I'd use to describe myself was_ adaptable.

 **~{I}~**

I was a special needs child for the first years of my life.

Hah. Lots of people didn't believe my medical records either, so I fault no one for thinking this was faulty information.

My disability had nothing to do with my body as much as it had to do with my mind and chakra. In the world of Naruto, everything counted on chakra—the very lifeblood of every living creature, no matter how insignificant. In humans, chakra network was more complicated and more intricately connected to your life. Bottom line: dysfunctional chakra can lead to, say, dysfunctional digestive system. (Being a competent medic-nin must be hell there, there was so much more to learn.)

Me, I couldn't move my legs; my hands were weak, my body fragile as a bloody leaf.

This was because my spiritual energy was too much—so much that it swamped my physical energy. Physical energy was the potential, the capability, to move; to allow a shinobi to leap into the sky, to fly, to run quicker than the wind. As an infant up to my toddler years, I had very little physical energy as the body I was reborn into was young, and had virtually zero stamina. I'd need shinobi training to increase the amount of physical energy my body could create, to balance the proportion of energies in me, and right this disability.

Spiritual energy was the stuff your mind makes; study more and you'll have more. Fact was, the body and mind usually mature together, thus maintaining the balance and a functional body that could grow stronger.

But you have a reincarnated baby—a teenager's mind and an infant's body? No wonder the kid was fucked up.

How could I train when I could barely move as it was?

That was a question that tormented my parents: Namikaze Minato and Uzumaki Kushina. What made me love them so much, what made me completely and utterly devoted to them was—they _never_ gave up on me even when a fussy, disabled child was the last thing you need during a time of war. This was a lot more devotion than my older set of parents had. I had been a perfectly healthy and capable kid back then, yet they dumped me in an orphanage and went their separate ways. But enough about them, they're probably dead and largely unimportant.

I barely moved as an infant due to the lack of energy. My parents immediately noticed something was wrong when I couldn't even roll around, much less push myself up. I could barely turn my head to the source of noises as it was.

I couldn't remember much of the world around me then, months after my birth, except for the permanent haze of terror. I was scared of my lack of mobility, I was scared of the strangers around me, and I was scared of this foreign energy within my body. Yes, I think I cracked after living in terror for so long, fearing every hitching breath would be my last.

Did you know how long it took for my eyes to finally adjust?

Seven months, give or take.

That was when it finally sank in my new set of parents meant me no harm. They were a beautiful couple, big hearts and they absolutely loved me, their firstborn. While haggard at first glance, they looked at me with love. They weren't going to harm me.

I calmed. Their emotions reached, conveyed even without words.

…

Yes, I'm sure you can guess too: it was the work of _ninshū_.

 **~{I}~**

My infanthood could be seen through the shutter-clicks of a camera: snap—three months old—snap—seven months old—snap—a year old. With the aid of someone, I could sit up but otherwise, I remained stationary and quiet. I recalled clearly the time I'd been discharged from the hospital because I was so sick of white and the home I'd been brought to was a refreshing mix of warm colors.

For my sake, my mother retired from life as a kunoichi.

The first time my brain managed to process her image—and my father's face—I nearly couldn't believe it. The first time I saw their faces, I laughed. I thought I'd finally gone crazy. But their faces didn't flicker. My fists brushed their faces and they remained solid; they were real.

Being carried by Kushina cemented the fact—I was in the Narutoverse—and I laughed even more.

 _I see_ , I thought bitterly, _so even in another world, some other deity continues to torment me._

Give me a perfect set of parents and you're going to take them away?

What did I ever do other than being born?

(I angst about that for awhile but I think I got over it. Mostly.)

 **~{I}~**

Of the people taking care of me, only Hatake Kakashi wasn't going to die. That should make me stick more to him so we could have something to bond together over the years of losing people dear to both our hearts. It didn't. Kakashi hated me; he did not waste any time voicing his displeasure of my birth.

"You are useless; you will not be able to contribute to the good of Konoha and yet you'd caused our main weapon, the jinchūriki, to retire.

"Sensei and Kushina-san should just get rid of you.

"Stop looking at me with those eyes, you brat! And—don't laugh!"

Of course, to add salt to the wound, it was _Uchiha Obito_ —he who took, or will take, my perfect parents away—who defended me to the death.

"Leave Mirai alone, he didn't ask to be born like this! His birth brought happiness to Sensei and Kushina-san, that's not a useless thing!

"You're just jealous that you have no parents to love you!

"Yeah, Mi-chan, laugh at that idiot; we both know he's the ridiculous one."

Then Obito would turn around and give me the widest, most adoring grin ever as Kakashi spluttered in the background. I stopped laughing at Kakashi's stupid face when it became apparent that the people I loved will always be taken away from me in the end.

"Ack, don't cry!"

…

..

.

My excess of spiritual energy indicated—to my parents—that I might have a higher level of intellect than the brats my age. I suppose reincarnation was such a far-fetched theory that they didn't even pause to consider it and instead, assumed I would be a genius.

I saw more of Kushina—my mother—than Minato in my younger years. He, as the Yellow Flash of Konoha, had battles to win and wars to fight. My mother played with me games and trained my motor skills even though, to me, it seemed futile.

In her presence, I bit back shrieks of frustration at my own body's incapability of mobility—it would not help me at all even though I gave hell to Kakashi with tantrums as an outlet—just so I wouldn't trouble her. She was obviously concerned about my situation already; I didn't need to make her even more aware of how dire my situation was.

I had to admit, the main character—Naruto, my would-be otōto I suppose—didn't cross my mind often, certainly not when I was the hero of my own drama already. I could not see Naruto having a better life with a crippled as an older sibling. If he was under my care, I swear, he'd be even worse-off than in canon.

I had a bad temper, who knows what I'd do to the boy? Plus, it would do Naruto mental health no good when his older sibling happened to be a boy in body and girl in mind. The differences between my mind and body hadn't caught up to me yet, not so soon in toddlerhood, but when puberty comes, I know I'd be in literal hell.

I must've offended a deity in past lives I couldn't recall. I was born into a loving family doomed to crack apart, I was given a boy's body instead of one that was more suited for me, I was going to have to go through a ton of shit and whatnot.

Lovely.

And ninshū was all I had to help me.

What was ninshū to me? As an avid Narutard, I'd finished the manga before my death though I didn't know much about the future generation that encompassed Boruto's generation as the main characters. There were a lot of kids in the orphanage I'd lived in who _loved_ Naruto. I would've gotten along with them had there not been a huge age gap and they didn't slobber all over the single copy of Naruto in our living space. Basically, I knew all about the stuff the Rikudō Sennin wanted to spread.

I was quick to realize it was ninshū—that, or I, for an absurd reason, had telepathy. Which didn't make sense, I wasn't even a Yamanaka so it couldn't even be a mutation. And my DNA was totally a combination of Minato's and Kushina's—no questions about it. I could feel the depths of their bottomless love; there was no way they'd cheated on one another. I could feel the ten months my mother kept me safe within her, I could brush the agony of childbirth coupled with the strain of holding the damned Kyūbi back.

I knew a few words but I was too young to actually speak. Before I learned the words to convey my feelings, I experienced the complete novelty of the joining of minds. I'd heard and _had_ experienced the joining of bodies before and it was nothing like what it felt to have two separate minds connecting.

Be it adult or child, you could connect.

The only thing I could do if I did not experiment with ninshū was to stare at the ceiling. Of course I chose to experiment with ninshū—the religion and teaching Ōtsutsuki Hagoromo spread to the world in hopes for peace but instead, his effort was desecrated and weaponized into the last thing he wanted: as a means to prolong war. Ninshū didn't thrill me. It didn't allow me to spit fire or unleash a torrent of lightning—basically, it did not appeal to me and I was sure many cynics in the world agreed with me that ninjutsu would be much cooler. Unless ninshū could allow you to read your opponent's mind, dissect their jutsu and show a way to counter it—during the heat of battle.

However, I understood, from gleaning my parents' minds, that I would unlikely be able to use ninjutsu at this rate.

It was hard to describe in words what connected me to my new parents; I saw their memories, I felt their thoughts as clearly as if I'd thought it myself, even though there was a language barrier between us. This one time I knew my mother accidentally cut herself while preparing dinner, I felt it—even though she was in the kitchen and I was in my bedroom.

I had my fears laid out before me.

It wasn't hard to think about my predicament and feel frustration and terror at my helplessness. I'd always been in control and suddenly losing a body that could fend for itself was disconcerting.

My parents didn't immediately realize they understood their son's feelings perfectly even though he never cried nor did he fuss about anything. But I could tell they subconsciously knew we were connected; I saw it in their gestures and efforts to make me more comfortable in the confines of my room and the freedom of five inches in diameter of my crib. They showered me with love and promised that as long as they lived, nothing would ever, _ever_ hurt me.

Ninshū was almost like telepathy. But you didn't read minds, there were no whispers in your head; there was only sharing and trading between your spiritual energies—the conscious of human minds.

…

It wasn't as useless as I'd originally thought. However, as wonderful as the joining of minds—thus, no words needed—sounded, if babies didn't speak, it was a sadly disconcerting fact.

Both Minato and Kushina wanted me my first word to a term of endearment that addressed them respectively, either Kaa-chan or Tou-chan. It was tough to choose. No, rather, I shouldn't have had to choose. But I was extremely conscious about not hurting their feelings.

Ever since discovering ninshū, I suddenly realized why Hagoromo could delude himself into thinking—for his whole life—that ninshū could bring peace. If you hurt someone, you'd feel their pain acutely through the connection ninshū created.

The ultimate flaw of ninshū was its pitiful lack of a true solution. Just because you understand didn't mean you could accept it. Ultimately, I could see why ninshū fell out of use. It must've been absolutely frustrating for them to understand but not be able to accept the fact, so they turned to ninjutsu for a solution—at least, if you killed someone, that'd end the argument. There, problem solved; no more argument and subsequently, no more war—after possibly decades of fighting.

Huh. I wondered if the people of the olden days in Narutoverse were on the same wavelength as I was. Did that mean I was old?

I didn't think so. I just had a lot of time to think—ridiculous stuff, important things—as an infant with nothing to do. I suppose anyone else would contemplate about their future prospect as a shinobi or whatnot, but as I was crippled then, I was more focused on puzzling out how to bloody _survive_ without my parents and how torturous life was being to me. I relied on them for everything except for breathing. It was _that_ sad.

Anyway, my first word was compromised. I looked at Minato and said, "Okaa-san." See? Acknowledging Minato and calling Kushina at the same time.

Sadly, as my parents were less aware and not as proficient in ninshū, they thought their precious little baby was gender-confused.

What followed was an amusing conversation of the differences between female and male. No, it wasn't anywhere close to what _The Talk_ would be like. They merely pointed out what I'd expect females to have and males to lack.

It was funny.

I like them. What I didn't like was how limited out time together would be.

It was already hard enough to spend time together in the village with the war raging outside, near the Land of Fire, reaping lives as it continued to wage. It was a few months after I turned one before I was brought out of the house Kushina and Minato shared—even though they weren't married yet, I know—and brought out to see Konoha.

Secrecy was highly prioritized due to me being the vulnerable son of two of Konoha's most powerful shinobi. Lots of people would want me to strike back at Minato and Kushina or simply to gain leverage over my parents. So I knew why they were so protective of me.

And my father was still just a jōnin—he was offered the position of ANBU but he declined. Even in times of war, ANBU only received assassination jobs—oh, they killed important personnel but my father wanted to have a more active role in defending his village, so jōnin was the ideal choice of occupation for him. Minato was not Hokage yet even though he obviously dreamed to be one. He still ran active missions with his three students—one chūnin, two genin—and I knew exactly who they were even though it'd been a while since we last saw one another.

"This is Mirai," my father introduced me proudly. It was as if I had accomplished something grand by just being alive. It was a novel feeling. The parents in my past life had, more or less, thought my existence to be a hindrance as time passed. It was a sad thought—the worst part of it was how their love could evaporate into thin air. "In case you've forgotten. It's been awhile since you kids were in the same room as him, huh?"

"He's larger than a loaf of bread now," noted Uchiha Obito, impressed. I still didn't have a fluent grasp on Japanese yet but he was thinking of a baby and a loaf of bread—how hard was it to connect those two together?

"He's so cute!" Rin gushed, pinching my cheeks. Now that I didn't need to brush her mind to understand. I preened beneath her gushing. "Isn't he, Kakashi?"

"Hn," grunted the Hatake. Touching his mind was like sinking my hands into a bucket of ice cold water. What I saw was not the conviction to get stronger—nor did he dream of anything, unlike Obito whose goal to be Hokage burned as bright as the sun—but the bitter replay of his father's suicide, like a broken record on repeat.

I didn't completely get it now but I knew, in a few years time, when my parents would die in a battle against the Kyūbi, I wouldn't even need ninshū to completely understand what he was going through.

It was a bitter thought to swallow.

"Sit here and don't wander off, ne, Mi-chan?" Minato ruffled my hair. He didn't even need to ask. I suspected my father knew he didn't even need to verbalize his thoughts to be understood too but he didn't know how to reach out with only his spiritual energy.

Had my spiritual energy not been so excessive, I might've not known ninshū either.

But what was so grand about ninshū when I was still, by all means, crippled?

At first, I thought that if ninshū was about trading and sharing spiritual energy, I could distribute my excess of spiritual energy to my parents and anyone I came into contact with. But no, somehow, ninshū practiced equivalent exchange: if I gave that much, the recipient would return the equal amount.

I needed _more_ physical energy.

 **~{I}~**

"Okay, one foot in front of the other, Mirai … come on … ah, never mind … stand up—try again."

I refrained from rolling my eyes at Obito who stood a couple of feet further away. Even I knew how to walk—well, the theory behind it at least. In my previous life, it had just come naturally, seem so easy: stand and your butt will move when you just think about it.

I was around three and I—could— _not_ —walk. Well, not as well as I would've liked. I was sure kids my age would be running around like monkeys now, but I was still stuck at _learning_ how to walk. At least I could, y'know, crawl though not very quickly. (My main modes of transportation: being carried and rolling around.)

I put one foot forward and face-planted on the parquet floor. I groaned into the ground. "Need help to stand again?" wondered Obito. I shook my head, rolling onto my back, my front and I kept on rolling. "Kushina-san, are you really sure Mirai got what it means to walk? Because all he does is roll around like a rolling-pin."

"That's Minato's son you're talking about!"

"Aha," Obito snapped his fingers, a triumphant expression seizing his face, "so you _are_ admitting that you're not—"

"Baka!" I pushed myself onto my elbows to see Kushina pummeling Obito into the ground. "Just because Minato's smarter doesn't mean I'm idiot! How smart are _you_ , huh?!" _Pow_!

I snickered, waddling on the floor—it was relaxing after straining my limbs for one whole day trying to perfect the art of walking. Kushina acted rough and harsh on Obito but that was it—just an act; Obito was actually her favorite. Kushina was a bit of a tsundere, not willing to openly show her favoritism but opting for the violent way of loving.

I guess that's her interpretation of ninshū.

I blinked up at the ceiling. It was going to be hard to discard ninshū to accept ninjutsu but I had to: ninshū was useless in the long-run, only ninjutsu would keep me alive. I needed strength (more power) to confront the future.

My lips quirked at how aptly named I'd been.

The child who knew the future named future—it was as if my parents had seen my obituary.

…

If they did, they would've known their firstborn's moniker was Father of Ninshū—as embarrassing as it sounded.

(Even though I would've begged to differ.)

 **~{I}~**

* * *

 _This story has the same review-drabble system as The Path Home. For those who are unaware, each chapter has a drabble exclusive to it and only reviewers can get it—through PM, that is. The drabbles are either subplots, contribute directly to the bigger plot, separate povs or just contain fluffy contents._

 _As for the inclusion of ninshū, why not? I wanted to explore a couple of aspects in the Narutoverse. Also, the chakra theory stuff mentioned above is my headcanon. Hope it isn't confusing. More will be revealed in later chapters._

 **Drabble #1:** A look into this AU's cycle of reincarnation (N and S, remember?). If you catch my drift. This chapter's drabble is linked to the main plot.

 **Question:** Are there other SI stories set in Itachi's generation? I want to read them but I have trouble finding such types so the help would be appreciated.

 **R &R**


	2. Obito and Kakashi, Itachi and Mirai

_**-BAD APPLE-**_

 **2\. Obito and Kakashi, Itachi and Mirai**

It amazed me how much Minato and Kushina mattered to me.

I never thought I could be so capable of such selfless love before. I'd do _anything_ for them. I felt as if they'd made me a better person by simply loving me. A feeling exacerbated perhaps by how my previous set of parents had abandoned me, left me raw and vulnerable and hateful. They couldn't have given me a worse impression of myself.

I felt like withering into nothingness out of sheer guilty for causing them so much trouble. What trouble, you wonder?

Nearly dying, that's what.

Apparently, death of chakra exhaustion had something to do with how physical energy, which was necessary to keep the body functioning, was drafted from internal organs to power a jutsu. In my case, my natural lack of physical energy caused my lungs to stop functioning.

Just for a while, I was assured.

(Or it would've been R.I.P Namikaze Mirai, at the ripe old age of three years and two months old, with the epitaph: A Thousand Worries of a Son to Namikaze Minato and Uzumaki Kushina.)

I was lucky my father was reading me a bedtime story—which I always appreciated since I was in the process of learning Japanese—and he noticed the instant my breath hitched before stopping entirely. He _freaked_. To be fair, any father would lose his shit when his son stopped breathing. But he didn't lose his wits. As I was told, Hiraishin was used and I was brought to the emergency room pretty quickly enough.

There was nothing abnormal in my lungs—no tumor, no puncture wounds, nada—just the lack of chakra to power it. This was quickly rectified by pumping chakra—perfectly balanced chakra—into my chest, providing the aid until my physical and spiritual energies stabilized enough to sync together, regardless of how badly, as long as my chakra could keep my body going. With the amount of studying my parents did to figure out how badly imbalanced inner energies would affect me in the future, they could've been chakra theorists or lecturers.

"Will he always be at risk of organ failure?" I heard my mother asking the medic-nin who'd attended to me. It was late into the night now. I'd collapsed earlier, that much I could recall, and the feel of my father's chakra resting heavily on my chest—being transferred to me—was comforting enough to lull me to sleep. But the sob in my mother's breath made me cling onto awareness.

Who made her cry? I was angry. Then I realized my condition—how I'd been so close to death—had been what drove her to the brink of tears. My gaze flitted to my father. His blue eyes were bright and worried in the darkened ward. He smoothed down my hair when he realized I was awake, pressing a chaste kiss to my forehead.

"I'm afraid so," the medic-nin's grim reply did not ease up on Kushina's worries. "Has he been doing any strenuous lately? A change in the usual routine?"

"No … well, he's been walking—"

"Uzumaki-san," the medic-nin interrupted, voice gentle. That was when I knew things would be bad. When doctors were gentle, it usually meant bad news. Most of the time, from my unfortunate experiences, they were arrogant, aloof bastards with a cool voice: _of course your son is fine, who do you think operated on him? The one and only Dr [insert name here]._

(Just dandy, thanks to Dr. He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named, I ended up in another universe.)

"I'm afraid we can't do much at this point. This is an unprecedented case, unless we can locate the source of his excessive flow of spiritual energy and limit it, the boy will … it's out of our hands. We should leave it to Kami-sama." Kushina sniffled. Hearing her cry, feeling her pain, it hurt. "I apologize. For now, all I can suggest is to limit how much he moves. If he strains himself, his physical energy might be drained quickly."

"We have to confine him to bed?"

"No more than half an hour on his feet, perhaps," the medic-nin demurred. "Just—Uzumaki-san, brace yourself. He … he doesn't look like he's meant long for this world."

I severed the connection between me and my parents when the pain from both ends became too overbearing.

…

..

.

(I don't want to make them feel this way.)

 **~{II}~**

At this point, I could sense a lot of the higher-ups in Konoha wanted me to die and be done with it. Not only had my mother retired for my sake, my father didn't take up missions as frequently as before and only went to answer any distress calls for help or the scarce urgent missions. Basically, my existence was limiting the movements of Konoha's best.

Just another crap to add to my pile of concerns. I'd heard of the Chaos Theory and I wondered if my existence—I consider myself unique but no matter how special, it shouldn't—had changed the course of history in this world. Konoha won the Third Great Shinobi World War but only because Minato had been an active participant.

I wasn't that attached to Konoha (actually, I could care less about Konoha) but losing sounded very, very bad. Especially since I was _in_ Konoha, in direct line of fire to get killed if we were invaded.

"Otou-sama," I mumbled, frowning at him. "Go … fight for the village." Even though I wanted him here; my grip on his large hand was enough proof of that. Through the connection between our conscious, I understood that he wanted to stay too—there was no saying when his son might die. He was placing his son before the village. Nice.

"I do," he said.

"From my bedroom?" I laughed weakly. The confinement was getting to me, draining me of liveliness. That and I had nobody to play with. I could barely look at my parents these days. They looked so haggard, so worried—I felt bad and when I knew I was guilty, I was pensive and silent. There was just so little reason to smile.

Minato's lips curved into a languid smile. "I _do_ coach Kakashi, Obito and Rin, y'know. I'm fighting through them." He brushed his finger over my knuckles.

Speaking of his genin team… "Where're they?" I asked curiously. I missed their antics: Obito and Kakashi arguing were always lively and when Rin swooped in to end the argument, it was the highlight of the debacle. Sakura's temper had nothing on that girl. I nearly smiled at the memory of the boys' battered bodies.

"They went on a mission with Nara Shikaku-san," Minato paused as he thought about it, "to the Kannabi Bridge I think. It's a crucial mission—A-rank, I believe, and the details were classified so I was unsure of what they'll be doing exactly."

…

 _Oh. My. God._

I gaped like a goldfish at my father. Understandably, Minato was concerned. "What's wrong?" he prodded. "Are you hurting anywhere?" His grip on my tiny hand tightened. Then the doorbell rang. I blinked, thrown out of my shocked, disbelieving mental state.

Times of war had ingrained paranoia into Minato; he stiffened at the loud sound, tense. His free hand twitched to his weapon pouch. But Kushina's voice greeted whoever it was at the door cheerfully enough: "Mikoto-chan!" Minato relaxed at the familiar name; it was not an enemy.

My chest still felt uncomfortably tight with panic though, as if every panic in the world had been packed into my lungs. Things had been bad _enough_ with Minato there: _without_ him, would Rin and Kakashi just die together with Obito? Be influenced by Madara together? Become the Three Evil Musketeers? By the way, what was the word for musketeer in Japanese?

I wheezed over a strangled scream and a hysterical laugh.

"Baby?" Minato prodded, brows furrowed in worry (always, _always_ worried).

"'m fine. But 'Bito an' the rest aren't."

"We must have faith in them," said Minato patiently, ruffling my hair. "And it's not exactly your job to worry about them. Right now, all you have to concentrate on is getting better. And," he smiled slyly, "making a new friend."

"What?" Wait, I shouldn't get distracted. We were onto important matters and— Voices from outside my bedroom drifted through the walls to reach my ears. I had an acute sense of hearing. I was wondering if this had anything to do with the Kyūbi's influence. Unable to my help myself, I cocked my head in the direction of the noise.

"—Mirai doing?"

"It's been two weeks and I'm just relieved that none of his organs have collapsed." Kushina sighed in relief. I liked imagining that each sigh of hers would relieve some of the burden I was on her.

There was a pause on Mikoto's part. I wondered if she was who I think she was. "…You've changed, Kushi."

"Huh?"

"No, I mean—when I was pregnant and we discussed about how many children we each wanted, you said you wanted at least half a dozen. You were all worked up about how many amazing pranks your children will pull together with you and you said you'd brag endlessly about th—"

"I know. I haven't made a single plan." Kushina's laugh was watery. "I don't care about that right now. All I want … is for Mirai to be healthy, to live a long, happy life beside us. I don't need him to accomplish something awe-inspiring, he doesn't need to be the Hokage to make me love him any more—"

 _Click._

My arms trembled with the effort to rise and rub the tears away. Minato politely stood and left to see who had opened the door. I swiped the blurriness from my vision quickly enough to see a toddler about my age peering up at my father, visible through the gaps between my father's legs.

He was pale and his black eyes and hair gave him away as Uchiha Itachi before the uchiwa-patterned shirt did. Even at such a young age, tear-troughs marred his face. He canted to the side to stare at me, mouth slightly open. His eyes were wide.

"Itachi, right?" Minato patted the Uchiha heir's head as the boy nodded. "Let's give your mom and Kushina-obā-san time to catch up, okay?" He closed the door, hefted the boy up and walked him over to me. "There, that's my son, Mirai. Say hello, Mirai."

"Hi." I sniffled. I didn't want anyone to see me like this, so weakened, so touched by the love of a mother. But Itachi's eyes were more curious than anything. His hand was as chubby and small as my own as he was placed on my bed.

He brushed my cheeks. "Don't cry," his voice was soft, imploring— _gentle_. "When you 'et better … let's do somethin' to'ether."

The last thing I wanted was for this toddler to think I was a baby. I nodded. Over Itachi's head, Minato smiled.

…

..

.

(I'll never forgive anyone who hurts my mother. **N** e **v** e **r**. You see—)

 **~{II}~**

Itachi became my only companion. He did not worry about me. He did not shed a tear on my behalf. He did not feel pain at my pathetic state. It was a refreshing change even though my parents' feelings _did_ reach and touch my heart. Ninshū gave me a profound understanding of how much love hurt. I didn't fancy the love ninshū promoted: I preferred it when love was something that made you feel fuzzy and cherished instead of how it made you acutely aware that opening your heart for someone meant inviting hurt too.

So Itachi was a reprieve.

All I felt from the connection I had with Itachi was serenity. Every time he visited, he'd read me books even as he was still learning. In turn, I told him about ninshū, knowing that he was the least likely to dismiss me as a toddler with amazing imagination. His captivated visage was cute.

He'd babble questions:

"Can … can make me an' Minato-san con'ect?" ("Only between me and someone else; I can't connect you and anyone else.")

"Und'erstand one another?" ("That's what ninshū is about.")

"No hurt?" This question was harder to answer, but I finally settled on saying, "As long as that person isn't hurting, you won't be hurt too."

"Then let's not hurt that person." Whatever he meant by that. He didn't seem to expect an answer though so I didn't have to say anything in response to that.

Most days found us hunched over a map of the Elemental Nations or a book on languages.

It was one of those days when Team Minato returned from their mission at the Kannabi Bridge.

Another reason why I appreciated Itachi: his presence here distracted me from the disaster that mission would be. I'd already turned my back to the fate of the world right after the realization that Minato was not with his team at the Kannabi Bridge Mission sank in. I'd live my own life, regardless or not things have changed.

I'd lived my previous life without knowing the fate of the world and the future, didn't I? It shouldn't be hard to do the same now.

(I _still_ had to summon my courage with immensely elaborate and difficult spells when I heard Team Minato was back, though in shambles.)

I swallowed a lump down my dry throat when Rin staggered in, pale and weepy like a willow. Itachi stopped reading, gazing at her curiously. She was dressed in hospital scrubs, reeking of antiseptics and the hospital's funky smell in general, so I deduced that she must've been recently discharged or my father snuck her out. She was _alive_. That much had remained canon at least, until the time she'd be kidnapped by Kirigakure.

"Hey, Mirai." She sniffled. "It's been awhile, hasn't it?" Her shaky smile fell as quickly as she plastered it on. Her eyes slid to Itachi. "You … made a new friend."

"Where 'Bito and Kaka?" I asked instead of humoring her pathetic attempts at a normal conversation. Had Kakashi gone off to emo over Obito's grave so quickly?

Rin choked on a sob, hopelessly shaking her head. "Gone," she whispered, "Kakashi isn't—he didn't—"

My mouth hung open. Minato and Kushina hurried in to see what the fuss was about: Rin was crying pretty loudly. Itachi stared at her like she'd sprouted angel wings—that was to say, he didn't think it was an unpleasant sight as much as it was curious—but he didn't comfort her like he did to me. Kushina cooed in Rin's ear, wrapping her arms around the girl, even though her face was just as sad.

"They're—what?" I spluttered. I expected Obito gone. But Kakashi too?

"Dead?" supplied Itachi for me, blinking languidly. Was it unnerving that death was in this three-year-old's vocabulary? If you were curious, his first word had been _heiwa_ —peace. Mighty fitting for him.

"I've got to prepare for the funeral service," said Minato, sighing. His face was lined with grief. Grays in his hair bespoke tales of woe. I wanted to pull the gray hairs out. "I'm sorry I had to ask you to watch over them, Rin."

"N-No," Rin inhaled shakily. "I don't think I can go to the funeral service w-without l-losing it entirely— _aah_ …"

…

Why was life so complicated?

There was no sugarcoating it. I lived in miserable times and I might even be the cause of misery—with my existence, I'd fucked things up. Big time. Kakashi was dead. _How in nine hells was that possible when I was fucking sitting in the bedroom_? Oh, wait. Minato was right beside me in that bedroom. Their mission leader had been Shikaku, his strategy must've differed from Minato's—even though I didn't know what Shikaku had ordered the team to do.

What had my existence brought on? The end of Copy Kakashi before Copy Kakashi even begun. Unless he was Madara's new toy, little puppet whose strings he had yet to attach onto. I had no way of knowing.

So … who would be in charge of Team Seven now? _Obito_? He was still alive but … he had changed. I'd glimpsed his silent, stony visage after the funeral, Rin draped over him, still in tears. He hadn't spoken a word—there were the spider-web cracks of red over the whites of his eyes, the strain his eyes were under made me wonder if he'd gained his Mangekyō.

Still in silent shock, I curled up next to Itachi, ready for lights out due to information overload. My knowledge of the future had suddenly become stagnant. I had half-expected that but that didn't prepare me a shield against knives of terror pressing at my lifeline. I was mildly comforted by the thought that in this era of war, _everyone_ lived in fear, like it was the latest trend.

"I'm scared," I whispered to Itachi, even though he wouldn't understand why.

"'s goin' to be okay," he promised, curling into me as I did into him.

I wanted to badly to ask someone—anyone—what was going to happen now but I knew even if I did find someone who'd humor me, they wouldn't be able to ease this fear coiling within.

(Ever.)

 **~{II}~**

The world was mocking me. There was no rain, no blood—just the sunny sky. The indifference of the sun towards the bloody, war-torn earth it shone upon was something I wanted to mimic: I wasn't that attached to Kakashi and vise versa, yet, the thought of his death spurned disquiet within my chest.

Yet, I was … relieved.

If Kakashi was the one dead, then Obito wouldn't have a reason to go crazy; Rin was still alive. And she might unleash Isobu on Konoha but that was what seal-masters such as my parents were for.

That relief was the source of my disquiet. It sounded almost too good to be true; it was almost like I could have a happy life. Things were _never_ this good to me. Something bad was going to follow-up soon.

Thus, I brooded and contemplated the meaning of my existence.

( _Fine_ , I admit it in less-flowery words: I was sulking about my crippled confinement. Everything but _me_ seemed to be doing okay. Even Kakashi must've found reprieve in the afterlife; or he was now gaga over Infinite Tsukuyomi.)

On one such day, my father was summoned by the Hokage and my mother was at home, the monotonous days began to be splattered by colors of life.

It started with my mother visiting me after breakfast.

"I'll be teaching you something new today, Mi-chan." My mother's cheery chirp—the optimistic lilt to her voice—made me more receptive to what she had in mind. I looked away from the ceiling to see her face. The smudges beneath her eyes had lightened considerably since a month after Kakashi's death. At least she was resting properly now.

Kakashi's death wasn't a big loss to me. What was lost to me was prior knowledge and I hated to admit how afraid I was, how dependent I was on the canonical future even when I hoped it wouldn't come to pass so I would still have my parents. Nevertheless, I mustered a weak smile for my mother when her brows started to pull into a frown. "What's it -bito?"

Kushina brandished a bunch of … autumn leaves. Orange, red and dried up, they littered onto the sheets of my mattress. My smile faltered in confusion. Seeing this, Kushina was quick to explain: "We're starting on chakra control exercises."

"Okaa-sama," I began haltingly, lips pursing into a disdainful frown, "What's the point -bito? It's not like I can become a shinobi with this … this _pathetic_ —" Useless, weak, _wrong_ body.

"Don't say that," my mother interjected sharply. Her violet eyes—the same shade and shape as my own—softened. "Don't give up before you try everything there is to try, okay? The purpose of this exercise is to hone your control. I want to see if you can materialize Kongō Fūsa."

"Kongō Fūsa?" I echoed blankly.

"This." My mother emphasized this by showing off the technique: a this-worldly chain wreathed in yellow chakra snaked out from her back, through a waterfall of red hair, and wound around her right arm. I was enchanted and sorely disappointed: I didn't have high hopes. My previous life had taught me that by getting your hopes high, the eventual fall was going to hurt more. "Awesome, right?" She grinned. "Don't you want to do something this awesome?"

My unsteady hands, always quivering to no rhythm or beat, plucked an autumn leaf. It must be autumn now. Though I had a window by my bed—arguably not the most strategic arrangement for a shinobi—the scenery provided was of streets, tall buildings, villagers bustling about and the sky overhead, not of nature itself. Winter was the easiest season to tell since freshly fallen snow would ice my windowsill and decorate the streets.

"…Yes," I said, seeing as I had nothing better to do anyway, not with Itachi _in absentia_. "What do I do?"

"You must first know the principle of the jutsu," said Kushina, sitting beside me on the bed. "This jutsu falls under the Yin Release category. And it's—"

"Techniques, based on the spiritual energy that governs imagination, can be used to create from out of nothingness," I finished. My eyes widened as hope sparked within me. I tightened my grip on the leaf, mesmerized by it now. "If I have so much spiritual energy … then that means, I can be good at Yin Release—genjutsu."

Kushina ruffled my hair. "That's my little genius -bane." I smirked, pleased even though she was unaware I had an unfair advantage of a mature mind. "Now, we Uzumaki have special chakra—different from others—it makes us very unique. This special chakra is what makes us so healt—I mean, it lets us live long lives." She quickly amended herself when she realized her son wasn't in the best of health. I didn't point that out, waiting for her continue. "Anyway, our chakra can be given form though not a life-form—we're not just limited to genjutsu. Not that I'm that good with genjutsu. Mikoto always makes fun of me for that when we were kids," she added with an annoyed pout.

Through the connection between our minds, I saw a much younger version of my godmother tugging on my mother's hair, an arrogant smirk on her face as she spoke, jabbing a damning finger in Kushina's face. Guess she mellowed out, like Kushina did, with age, war and being a mother. I think Sasuke's terrible attitude came from his mother but unlike her, he didn't outgrow it.

"Must it be chains?" I wondered curiously, coming back to the situation at hand instead of wandering around in my mother's lane of memories.

Kushina hummed in thought. "That's a good question actually," she mused, tapping her lower lip in thought—a habit of hers. I saw in her memories that she'd always had her thumb pressed to her lips when in deep contemplation, especially during written tests in the Academy. "I only fashion chains out of my chakra because my tutors back in Uzushio molded chains. I'm used to it now so I've never given a thought about changing its form. You want something cooler?" She asked, smile playing on her lips.

"Don't wanna seem like a copycat," I mumbled, toying with the leaf.

Kushina snorted. "Please, when there's the Uchiha clan around, we won't be considered copycats." I chuckled softly. Kushina beamed; her son rarely laughed after all, it was somewhat of an accomplishment.

But a dubious frown etched itself on my face not long after she was done explaining how to find my chakra and practice with it. "I can't fight battles sitting in my bedroom," I noted. "How is this going to help again?"

"Eh, I was thinking that if you can materialize something like my chains, you can always keep them in materialization." Kushina looked surprised that I hadn't figured out the key to this exercise. I blinked in confusion. "If you do that, your chakra will slowly be drained … you still don't get it?"

"Death by chakra exhaustion?" I supplied, baffled.

(I'm not an idiot, I swear. I'm just … _obtuse_ … sometimes.)

Kushina palmed her forehead. "Baka, why would I want to cause you an early death?" She huffed, hand falling away to pinch my (admittedly very) chubby cheeks. "In your chakra, there'll be a mold of the inner energies. The ratio of spiritual and physical energies in nature transformation is even. But for Yin Release techniques, spiritual energy is used up more—for example, a ratio of 7:1. _So_ , you'll keep using up your spiritual energy that's overcompensating for who-knows-why, giving room for your physical energy to fill out."

"If you're right." In spite of myself, I was grinning.

She pinched harder. I cried out in muffled protest. "Mommy knows best, Mi- _chan_. Now put your back into it!"

"'Kay!" A pause. A glean of her mind: a blonde man hunched over scrolls overflowing his desk, gleaning the contents with a magnifying glass. "… Otou-sama came up with the theory, didn't he?"

Kushina reeled back in overdramatic shock. "I'm pretty sure neither Minato nor I had any Yamanaka blood in us … unless—my gramps cheated on my gran –bane?!"

I burst into peals of laughter.

…

..

.

All was well until Naruto's due date came and passed without the Savior of the World being born.

 **~{II}~**

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Before you panic, look at the characters tagged in the story. I think you'll be able to guess why Naruto wasn't born yet. I've pondered about the changes Mirai could make. Again, I look to the two fics I've mentioned at the top of the first chapter for inspiration. One picked up the mess, one changed nothing; so I decided to go for another route.

On another note, thanks for the reviews last chapter and I'd tried to respond to everyone. But I remember one of you has the PM system disabled. Oh well -.-;

By the way, here is the list of recs I've received last chapter, you can check them out if you hadn't already:

Spider Thread by Blackcatgirl  
Like A Dream by Athrna  
Twisted Path by kuraiame16  
The Other Survivor  
Safe and Sound, by GrimmyGrimm666  
Through These eyes & Prescriptions by cherryvvoid  
Dragonfly by Kattobase  
New Perspective by stoicpoppies  
It's a Mad Mad World" by Memory25  
Whiteboard by MelikesROFL (MC is Itachi's twin sister)  
Surreal Reality by Justadream1 (MC is Naruto's older sister [Naruto hasn't been born yet])  
The Curse of Chance by juniperlei (MC is in Uchiha clan)

 **Drabble #2:** What happened at the Kannabi Bridge.  
"I worked alongside your father once, Kakashi-kun, and I admired him. I'd want to clear his good name." -Nara Shikaku.

 **Question:** What do you think will happen now? :P

 **R &R**


	3. So You See

_**-BAD APPLE-**_

 **3\. So You See**

"Do you think he'll like this?" A teddy bear was shoved into my face. Grogginess sleep caused me hadn't faded yet.

Itachi was certifiably cute but even that certificate of Cutest Toddler Ever wasn't going to win him any niceties from cranky old Mirai who'd been woken up at three in the fucking morning. If I could, I would've throttled him. Fact was, I was laughably weak—physically anyway—and I wouldn't even be able to cause him pain by pinching.

Over the past few days, we'd done some tentative experimenting. Apparently, the excess amount of spiritual energy in me meant I had an extremely powerful mind, exceptional willpower and resilient mentality. Unlikely to be fooled by genjutsu as easily.

It might've been because my mother was a clumsy genjutsu-weaver but it was almost too easy to detect the trickle of foreign Yin chakra and I'd been repulsed: I'd ejected the foreignness, ostensibly shattering the genjutsu.

At least something was looking up for once. Because being deprive of my usual ten hour beauty sleep was horrible.

I twitched in annoyance. "…No."

Itachi dropped the teddy bear in my lap. "A pacifier?" He wondered, undeterred by my enthusiasm, as he rummaged in the pack he'd carted into my room and dump unceremoniously onto the ground like nobody's business. It sounded like there was a lot of crap in there.

"For _who_?" I asked incredulously, sure that common sense had fallen out of this conversation. Unless the sun and moon had switched places without my knowing, it was barely counted as dawn. I didn't do dawn. "Your grandpa's gums are itching or something?"

Itachi paused. Glanced at me dubiously, questioning my intelligence with just a simple glance. "It's for Sasuke," he said patiently, twirling the pacifier in his hand. "What do you think about this?"

"If you want a baby to shut up faster, just smother him with a pillow." I'd tried it once back in the orphanage and wow, had I gotten smacked into the next century. Not that Itachi would know.

Blissfully unaware, he said, "That's counterproductive to giving birth to him."

I was pretty sure Itachi didn't get what I was trying to say. "He's going to die anyway. Things are born, then they live for however long, and it's sayonara _bye-bye_." That was the bitter truth. Okay, I wouldn't have been this cynical if Itachi had come at a more appropriate time.

" _That's …_ " Itachi's brows furrowed as he tried to remember the English words I'd inculcated into his budding vocabulary. " _… not rice_."

" _Nice_ , Chi," I grumbled. It took great effort to crack an eye open when a weight burrowed into my side. Itachi was peering at me, his black eyes bright even in the dark. "…What?"

"I'll protect Sasuke."

"That's nice," I droned, not really caring about what he was going to do for his brother and blah, blah, b—

"And you, too." —lah. Wait, what? My eyes flew open, widened to the point I was sure even my slitted irises would be rounded now. Saw only a sweet smile yet untainted by the hatred of the shinobi world. "I won't let you die. Not before you'd lived."

 _Everything in this world will die and wither away, Itachi._

 _Your brother would've been happier dead at age eight._

 _How you protect others is fucked up so no thanks._

The cutting remark at the tip of my tongue melted with just a glance into his eyes. Pleased embarrassment burned it away as I clung onto the warmth Itachi provided. My previous annoyance at his intrusion had mostly faded: as Kushina's one and only godson, it should be expected he was dumped in her care when his mother went into labor and his father to be where Mikoto vented her agony.

Funny thing was how it was always the _father_ 's son when the baby became a pain in the ass (or pussy).

"So, Sasuke, huh?"

"Hn."

"But Okaa-sama isn't even pregnant!"

A pause, a flutter of eyelashes over curious onyx eyes. "Why would Kushina-san be?" asked Itachi.

I screamed before I could recheck the wisdom of doing so even though I had a perfectly sound reason for it: the savior of this world hadn't been born!

…

..

.

"… So, you see," I sniffled as I forced myself to continue this outrageous lie, "This is why Naruto—I mean, fishcake is important in ramen."

Minato rubbed his eyes with the back of his palm even as Kushina nodded empathetically. "I understand," she said solemnly, missing Minato's dumbfounded expression and how Itachi was nodding off on my bed, unmoved by my shriek, unlike my parents who'd dashed in there in the blink of an eye, weapons poised. That was embarrassing, sheesh. "There's no ramen without naruto."

"Uh-huh." Wait, what was I _talking_ about? Why on earth is my mother going along with this farce?

Evidently, my father thought so too.

"Can we go to bed now?" Minato whispered, breaking the ludicrously somber silence. "It's very late and we have an early day ahead of us tomorrow."

"'Kay!" I threw myself back onto my bed without waiting for anyone. Itachi was already dead to the world.

"… Kushina," ventured Minato once they were back in their room—our spiritual energies were loosely connected and it was like I was standing beside them, hearing this, "You ever get the feeling that Mirai is, um, very odd?"

"He's _your_ son."

See? Every time something's off about your son, you blame it on the dad. Though Kushina had never blamed Minato or herself for the excessive amount of spiritual energy that rendered me a cripple.

"But—"

"You have a small table and lamp stashed into your closet so you can write down whatever stuff you come up with in the middle of the night without waking me up."

Minato conceded to Kushina's superior logic. "Oh, true."

I snickered quietly to myself in spite of the seriousness of the situation— _no Naruto_ —and curled into Itachi's side.

That should be the end of it but I knew Minato was being nagged by this incessant urge to ask his son what really happened last night to make him scream. Minato did not know I could understand what went on behind his eyes perfectly well. It gave me a strange sense of superiority.

Morning dawned bright and early—much to my disgust. I preferred it when it was stormy, when the clouds would be weighed down by impending showers of rain. "I'm going to bring Itachi to the hospital," said Kushina as she buttoned on her sweatshirt. Itachi was strapping on his sandals. I was lolling at the dining table, sleep still crusted over my eyelashes. "We'll bring back lots of pictures."

"It's like I've never seen a baby before," I snorted quietly into my glass of milk.

"How would you?" Minato's question took me by surprise. I _huh'ed?_ into my drink. Minato sipped his own cup of morning coffee, nursing it to warm his palms. "You've never seen a baby." _We've never let you out of this house before_ , rang unsaid at the end of his period.

Oh shit.

Fortunately, I was a suave person—if I did say so myself—so my expression was quite blank. "Tachi was a baby at one point. We knew one another since forever. So I saw babies before."

Little curiosities tugged at the ends of Minato's mind. I watched him, widening my eyes to create the effect of an innocent child instead of someone masquerading as one. Minato decided to drop that subject. Asked, "Why did you scream last night?" Followed by a _look_ that warned me not to lie.

"I thought about a sibling," I said delicately. It was technically the truth, just not the whole lie either. The best sort of lie, from my experience, was those that expunged what you wished to keep hidden or an exaggeration of the truth.

A blink from my father's end. "Would you like a younger sibling?" He smiled softly. As if imagining how lovely the second child would be. Naruto; bright, vibrant and lively, unlike his sardonic, crippled brother. So charismatic, so warm everyone would absolutely _adore_ him.

My lips curled. Words sharp as knives tumbled from my mouth before I could rethink the wisdom of this: "Sure, I care about your happiness after all – if replacing me does the trick, go on ahead."

Minato stared at me, stunned hurt whacking him. His face fell in miserable disappointment. "When have we ever given you the impression we wanted to replace you?" he whispered, horror underlining his words.

Discomfort shifted my heart uneasily. Throat was suddenly dry. "No … I just … feel that way. It really would've been … easier … if you had a normal son."

Normal son—as in one who didn't positively _despised_ his body. Not only was the gender _wrong_ , it was essentially useless in its crippled state. If it'd been my son, I would've been resentful towards him. I wasn't going to sugarcoat it; I was no saint. If I'd been a saint, I would've been in paradise by now. Not writhing in emotional agony.

It made me wonder how Minato put up with me.

I had no idea how _I_ put up with me. It was pathetic how I still woke up every morning, guts clenching at the prospect of being discarded. I relied entirely on Kushina and Minato for my survival and while I did love them mind, body and soul, I wasn't fool enough to believe this love would last in the face of true tribulation: between me and the village, they'd drop me faster than they would a scalding hot potato.

A blink of the eye and, suddenly, my father was kneeling in front of me. I was sat on a dining chair but I was tiny enough that he still needed to crouch to reach eye-level. His visage was outlined by lachrymose but his eyes were ever-gentle as they rested on me.

"If you'd been born normal, Mirai," he began serenely, "I might not have been as emotionally invested in you as I am now. I'm always thinking about you, wondering if you're okay, if you needed anything. Maybe I didn't show how much you matter to me very well.

I had to know. "How much?"

"Only as much as what my _I-love-you_ 's mean to you," said Minato gently. "Nothing can measure what I feel. Have I loved you? You on the receiving end should be the one to measure it."

It was too good to be true, _too good_ that it should be false. Yet I saw nothing but truth resonating from the depths in his eyes; raw emotion washed over me. Something withered in me. Something bad rotted.

(My arms trembled as I reached out for Minato—)

I can't bear to see them dead. Worse: to see their torment in a world about to end, to be helplessly trapped in the Infinite Tsukuyomi. We need someone who _could_ save us—save them.

"Otou-sama"

 _With you, I'm willing to take a chance_

"May I have a little brother?"

 _I cannot save you, the least I could do is lay out the tools_

Blue eyes so unlike my own brightened; his eyes glittered like a kaleidoscope of all shades of blue. Dark, light, love. "Of course! We'll ask your mother, okay?"

I nodded mutely.

(—and even though it had been I who moved, the red threads falling in seams from my back were what enveloped Minato.)

 **~{III}~**

One precarious step after the other. That was the pattern of the past hour. From somewhere in front of me, splayed carelessly on the couch, Obito's groan reverberated throughout the apartment: "At this rate, I'm going to be a grandfather by the time you reach me!"

"Shut it –bito!" I spat. Dozens of red threads – the shade of Kushina's hair – braided together into a thick, crimson plait that threatened to strangle Obito to within an inch of his life. "I'm trying! I haven't walked in years!"

Obito shrugged. His visible eye sliding away from me, ignoring my unwavering inspection of his masked face. It wasn't Kakashi's type of mask. It was just a cloth wrapped around his forehead and one large piece of it draped on the right half of his face.

The world had a way of trying to align itself back into the rightful path – a world where I did not exist. As if it was rejecting me. Even in the tiniest of ways.

Obito _must_ bore a physical scar from the Kannabi Bridge's mission; that was the rule of the universe. An Amaterasu that spiraled out of control on his first attempt in desperation scorched his face. A whorl-like scar would've been better-looking on him. His right eye had miraculously escaped the ordeal intact.

Even though he wasn't going to be anywhere for a while – not until someone else relieved him of guard duty – I still snuck glances at him, to confirm this was happening, this was real. Obito was alive. Kakashi had died in his and Rin's stead.

The surrealism of it was like an uneven bump on the surface I walked on; I felt wrong-footed. A careless step and I'd fall. Both metaphorically and literally speaking, that is.

I was making good progress if I did say so myself. Three weeks after the little heart-to-heart with Minato, I was up and moving. His affection fueled my body into cooperating. The leak of excessive spiritual energy helped: day by day, it became easier to move my sluggish body, I felt as if I was getting healthier. Less weak. Stronger.

It was a wonderful feeling. Independence.

My good mood of being mobile didn't last long. A couple of hours earlier, Itachi had dropped by for a visit and informed me of one tidbit: he'd begun clan training. Becoming a shinobi – oh, he'd be one of the best, the greatest, the saddest shinobi. The misunderstood one. Seeing the sheer dedication on his face, feeling how honored he was to be able to serve his village, made me ache in my chest.

He was going to die a broken, used tool. Like some cheap whore thrown out of the brothel after she contracted AIDS.

I was so angry I _screamed_ and flung glass cups. This little innocent boy – so hopeful, so bright, so _gentle_ – was going to die in less than two decades. The one to deal with that temper tantrum from hell was Obito who had obviously been baffled by this inexplicable tantrum.

In retrospect, his current bout of grumpiness was perfectly explainable.

" _What's your problem?!_ " he'd yelped, only to be on the receiving end of a strangled, mangled shriek of " _Unfair!_ "

I probably sounded like an authentic banshee then.

I felt sorry about how Obito and I weren't as close as we used to be. We'd bonded mostly because of how Kakashi derided the both of us. Then the Hatake genius had gone and died on us – the link that, ironically, held us together had shattered.

We were getting along fine. Even without Kakashi. And that made the fact that Kakashi was dead stuck out like a sore thumb.

I couldn't find a way to ask him about Kakashi without causing him to shut down or to be upset. Maybe years later. Maybe when talking about Kakashi wouldn't be like pouring salt into his wound and adding lava to up the agony.

Talking bad about Kakashi had been what we often enjoyed doing together. Talking bad about the dead was simply bad grace and spoke of a huge gap in obligatory politeness.

Silent and unspoken; we never made a big deal out of it. Ninshū must've been at work here.

I'd been creating theories about ninshū – my own theories written on a notepad in English. A journal that detailed the events in canon, the characters and the jutsu and anything I deem important and noteworthy. Sure, canon was mostly skewered but knowing still gave me an edge – however small that edge was.

Theory was: ninshū existed in miniscule ways here. Empathy and compassion were vestiges of ninshū – from the days where everyone used spiritual energy as a means to connect. Not as powerful but just as much useful in defining humanity.

Next, the Yamanaka Clan used Mind Transfer Jutsu. What did that have to do with me you wonder? Nothing at the moment. Bear in mind these are all theories I came up with in my spare time. That jutsu of theirs had me wondering how they transferred their minds – spiritual energies essentially – to another body. And if it'd worked on me.

I figure the transfer could only work when there was a proper balance of spiritual and physical energy. If that jutsu was used on me, I think they'd be in a huge shock for their lives. My spiritual energy would never be suppressed so easily – it was too large for a Yamanaka with a balanced, smaller spiritual energy to suppress just long enough for them to take over.

I'd market a bigger point if it came up.

Right now though, I was stuck on how to increase physical energy. I recalled how Tayuya's spiritual monsters had absorbed Shikamaru's physical energy in their battle because it instinctively sought for balance. No physical energy meant wanting it.

Yet, when I touched anyone, their physical energy didn't flow into me.

The answer was simple: this human vessel was a container with a _limit_. The excessive amount of spiritual energy prevented me from taking in more physical energy even though, _in theory_ , I could actually absorb it from others.

 _Patience, Mirai_ , I intoned to calm my frustration about my shaky predicament. The _Hikenshi_ I'd materialized was meant to help me get better.

(Oh, Hikenshi? _Scarlet Silk Thread_ , nothing fancy, just a temporary name for a derivation of Kongō Fūsa until I come up with something cooler.)

"I think my third grandkid's being born already." Obito's whine was punctuated by a groan.

I took another step and finally stumbled to a halt by his side. I scowled at him even though I was tempted to laugh at his melodrama. "Assuming Rin will even glance twice at you," I sneered. "I heard she's been seeing a lot of Shiranui Genma lately."

"What?! You're lying, there's no way you could know!" Obito's visible eye narrowed as he sprang up into a sitting position, no longer lounging like he owned the couch. "Who told you anyway?"

Of course, this information was accurate. I'd gleaned it from Rin's mind after I spotted the pink beneath each eye when she came back from greeting the door of my apartment – conveniently enough, she had been the only guard on duty so no one noticed her visitor.

I allowed a cool smirk to grace my mouth, further infuriating him. Obito shut his mouth with a click before he could further spur me on.

…

Yes, our relationship – without Kakashi – wasn't what it used to be _but …_

"Can we go out for ramen?" I asked Obito cheerfully when my stomach complained.

He nodded. Then, without prompting, he took my hand. Silent and unspoken; he supported me in spite of everything.

 _… the warmth of his hand hadn't changed_.

 **~{III}~**

A different hand held my own as we crowded at the foot of the Hokage Tower. Minato's inauguration ceremony as Hokage. Pride swelled in my chest and threatened to burst. My lips couldn't grin any wider. "Happy?" asked Kushina giddily.

"Yep!"

I was so happy for Minato words could barely square down what I was feeling. Minato was Hokage. That meant, he, in a way, was the father of the whole village. Minato who viewed the village to be as important as his son. How was that even feasible? To me, your own flesh and blood mattered beyond the rest – my strong belief led me to be disappointed but I strongly maintained it.

Nothing could be more important.

Apprehension snuck in between giddiness and pride to lick at my insides: Otou-sama, will you change into someone I refuse to accept as my father? When push comes to shove, who will you sacrifice? Me or the village?

I tried to distract myself by looking around. I didn't want to end up telling Minato that his I-love-you's meant nothing to me in the end – that they were only words used carelessly to appease me for the time being.

(Frustration seared my chest; frustration at the incapability to love without asking for more, more and everything _forever_.)

There were no VIP seats – or any seats to be honest, everyone was standing – and we were in the middle of the crowd though to Minato, I was sure we stuck out like sore thumbs. Shifting my eyes to the people next to me – Obito and Rin, each with varying degrees of grins and sadness because Kakashi's spot was taken by someone _not-Kakashi_ – provided ample amounts of distraction.

Eyes fixed on Obito brought back the nightmare we'd shared – through the link inadvertently formed during slumber. He'd been tasked with reading me a story for the night and he'd fallen dead asleep in his chair. I didn't have the strength to move him and I'd been honestly sleepy so we'd slept the way we had.

The nightmare was really a memory – an aberration—

 _Rin's scream shredded the air._

 _My body jerked limply and even though I could be sure I hadn't moved, I was suddenly hurtling through a dark, dark space—floating cubes ignoring gravity's dictation—and I crashed into the first enemy as the world sharpened into colors once more. I didn't even hesitate. I grabbed his neck, faster than he could blink, and snapped it._

 _A broadsword swung through the air, undeterred by the branches curving low in the twilight, darkening our sight, and my eyes burned—the broadsword never hit its mark, it passed through me. I saw the man's eyes widening. My kunai was buried in his throat before he could blink and now I know there was only three more of the enemy left._

 _One of them had Rin. I tore after them._

 _"Obito!" cried Rin. I didn't even need to think—I was by her side in an instant, and the world distorted, as if someone had sank their fingers into the fabric of the universe and twisted—_

—a challenge.

Another change, the world chalked it up, the world told me through the shared dream. Then the world asked: _What else would you attempt before you learn your place?_

"Mirai?" A touch on my shoulder drew my attention, ripped me from my melodramatic musings. I saw my mother. "Is something the matter?" she asked gently.

My lips quirked into a genuine smile as I said, "Nothing."

( _everything_ )

…

Nobody is taking them away.

No one.

 **~{III}~**

* * *

This story wouldn't be under the Naruto category without him lol So yes Naruto will be born though his character is going to be significantly different from canon. Aside from a few parallels to the canon storyline - for the irony - I intend to keep this off-track. Suggestions are appreciated :D

 **Question:** Who do you think is closer to Mirai? His mother or father? Or even Obito or Rin?

 **Drabble #3:** A pov from a character that has already appeared. Whose thoughts you want to see?

 **R &R**


	4. Testing the Waters

**Naruto © Masashi Kishimoto**

 _ **-BAD APPLE-**_

 **4.** **Testing the Waters**

I had devised a master plan to test my parents.

"Don't," said Obito and Rin as one unit that bore my well-being in mind.

I waved them away. "Pass me the tomato sauce."

Rin looked at Obito— _stop the kid!_ —and he, misinterpreting her look, handed me what I asked for. "Thanks." I fumbled with it for a second. "Can you make sure they're not both back at the same time? I want Otou-sama to come back first."

Obito blinked. "Fine, but I'm not helping you clean anything up."

"That's fine," I allowed. Obito and Rin exchanged one last glance before they both left. I hoped they actually held up their end of the deal. I dragged the dining chair to the sink, tomato sauce held in hand. And I waited. While I was not a chakra sensor, I could detect emotions—human emotions, that is. The more familiar I am with someone, the easier it becomes for me to detect that person.

I assumed Obito would be the one looking for Minato. And sure enough, he was already at the Hokage's Tower—which wasn't that far from here. I fell sideways, kicking the chair out while I was at it. The wooden furniture clattered to the ground deafeningly, nearly masking the sound of glass shattering.

Red on the floor, a prone body—to any ninja, it would've looked like a murder scene. Assuming my parents could see through the fancy props, I could use the convenient excuse of 'organ failure'—something which hadn't happened for a long while now.

Then there was the matter of being able to tell my state from my breathing pattern. Hopefully, their panic would work in my favor and mask some of it. Though, certainly, I'd be regulating my breathing to make it seem as if I was having trouble breathing.

There was a hard tug at the back of my mind—and the next thing I knew, Minato's spiritual energy was a whole lot closer.

"Mi— _RAI_?!"

Minato screamed like a little girl. That sound was so pitiful I stopped breathing altogether. I probably could've garnered a more interesting reaction if I hadn't choked on laughter. "Mirai," His voice was almost back to normal. Almost. He could barely keep his bewildered anger in check. "What—were—you— _doing_?"

And that was how I knew my father loved me.

(Real effective method. Do try it at home. A gun and copious amounts of legitimate replacements for blood should do the trick better than tomato sauce and broken glass could.)

I peeled my face off the ground and looked at him; his face was as white as sheet and I felt a sting of regret beneath the complacent amusement. Minato crouched to swipe away some of the sauce on my cheek. "Did you trip and fall? Why didn't you get up immediately? Where's Rin or Obito?" There was a hard edge in his tone that made it plain he was unimpressed about his students' absence.

"I'm playing dead."

Minato stared at me. Annoyed, now. "You mean … this was staged? And everyone was _in_ on the joke?"

"No, yes—no." Minato cocked a brow in askance. "Okaa-sama isn't in on it. I want to get her next. So go away." That said, I flopped back onto the ground.

"Your first mischief and you aim straight for a heart-attack from your victims?" he asked incredulously.

I pointed at the door. "Go. Away."

"This won't end well."

…

Naturally, he was right. He was a genius, after all.

Kushina did not take the prank—I mean, test—in stride like my easy-going father had. Probably because she hated being the punch-line to a joke and how I'd managed to fool her better than I did Minato. She screamed loud enough to crack glass when she finally arrived at home.

Her anger was not abated by relief that it was only a prank. She railed at me, denied Obito and Rin the privilege of dinner, and sentenced Minato to the couch for a month. There goes Naruto to nonexistence in a hand basket. Oh, and I was punished for the first time in my life as Mirai.

I was so shocked she would do so that I remained perfectly still for the first five minutes of my timeout in the little corner at the living room.

She didn't make me clean up the mess. Because both she and Minato were too overprotective; as I was fragile in their eyes, they treated me not unlike young civilian babies. Marks of bad shinobi parents, I'm telling you.

"Mirai."

Startled, my tongue darted out guiltily. A nervous habit I couldn't be rid of from my past life: I licked my lips when I was anxious. I glanced suspiciously back at my father who sat sprawled on the couch, his haori slung on the couch, off his shoulders for once.

"Repenting, I hope?" He was smiling.

Hmph. Making a big show of crossing my arms in petulance, I turned away. I just wanted to test them. But Kushina had not given me a chance to explain and I doubted it would end well if I told her the purpose of the test.

(Love me?)

(Got to keep them on their toes after all)

"What were you hoping to accomplish actually?" he continued, despite knowing I couldn't answer during time-out. He was probably hoping to goad me into speaking to prolong the punishment. Well, I won't fall for it. "Were you seeking our attention?"

Shrewd. He was too shrewd. I turned partially towards him; he was the only one in the living room, making sure I didn't break from line, as Kushina was bathing. "I know…" He looked away, uncomfortable by my silent, piercing look. "I know I don't spend as much time as I used to with you … but that doesn't mean I care any lesser." He rubbed the back of his neck, expression troubled. "If you can't handle our divided attention, maybe you're not ready for a younger sibling. I mean, newborns need the extra attention so—"

Asshole. Benign as he appeared to be, as much as he was my father, he was a cunning, clever shinobi before: he was goading me. Testing me as much as I tested him.

"I was lonely," I interjected coolly.

"Rin and Obito were here," Minato pointed out.

"Making moony-eyes at one another, yeah, sure. By all means, it was a nice setting."

Minato turned his cheek, to the clock, and hummed noncommittally. "Time's up." He sprang to his feet. His movements, as always, were quicker than lightning; he was in front of me before I knew it. "Let's get you cleaned up."

We were halfway to the bathroom before I realized what he meant. I squirmed and struggled, catching his skin with a mighty kick that, for all it did, could've been an ant ramming into it. "No!" I shouted, face reddening in indignation. "I was punished already!"

"This isn't punishment," said Minato, mouth twitching. I hissed like a wounded kitten, wrenching on his bangs. Ineffective. He dragged me up to the bathroom and knocked. "Kushina?"

"I've filled the tub," chirped my mother's voice. Then the door was flung open. She positively beamed with malice. "It's been awhile since we bathed together—and didn't you want to spend more time with us?"

"No!"

I had endured years of helpless humiliation at their hands when I couldn't clean myself, much less bathe. The moment I could, I had refused their help and bathed alone. I hated being seen bare, regardless of whom. Minato knew as well as I did that I would view it as punishment. Which was to my parents' favor.

"Oh, sit still, Mi-chan!"

"Okaa-sama, sto _oo_ p!"

"Does Mi-chan need help with reaching his back?" Minato mocked.

I swiped at his eyes with soap suds.

He sighed.

 **~{IV}~**

Two days after the "Play Dead" incident was the first day of school.

Kushina had to wrestle me out of the house as I was being difficult. Minato suggested Hiraishin but Kushina insisted this could be killing two birds with one stone—a brief tour of the village and we could reach the Academy in no time.

Why was I being rebellious?

Because it, for the first time, sunk in I was going to be a shinobi. Though I tried to take it like a mature adult—accept and process this prospect—I couldn't stop myself from degenerating into the thought patterns of a child: I was all pumped-up to learn new jutsu and be the best shinobi there was.

I was _scared_ of that childish attitude.

Children all pumped-up like that were usually the first to die. And I was having too glamorous a life to want to kick it so quickly.

Furthermore, the effort needed to be exerted from my hapless body was immeasurable. Though I hated partaking in tedious and strenuous tasks, if I was somehow forced into it, I would still despise losing and falling short of the best, the better.

(Sometimes, I really, really _hate_ how contradictory a creature I am)

"Nervous?" Kushina pinched my cheeks. Her face was kind, loving. "I remember walking through the property-line for the first time myself," she began, pointing up ahead where parents and children alike congressed. Minato had gone ahead, as was expected of the Hokage. "I had no one at that time; I was the only foreigner and I had red hair to top it off too. It was an absolute nightmare. Kids picked on me for that. You're different, you're lucky."

I was about to ask, with no little amount of sarcasm, what was so lucky about my situation when Kushina pointed once more.

I followed her line of sight and immediately, my minor apprehension was wiped away. My grip on her hand loosened.

But Kushina grinned like she was the one with ninshū, like she was the one who knew what went on in my head. "Go," she said and pushed me forward—towards the little black-haired, pale-skinned boy with eyes darker than black.

I slanted a grin behind me before I darted ahead of her.

"Chi!" I tackled the boy, squeezing Itachi in a tight hug; we hadn't seen one another in nearly two weeks. He has his clan training and I didn't want to bother him. I knew he had it tougher than I did though he'd beg to differ and insist I had it way tougher.

Mikoto laughed. "Mirai, it's nice to see you made it today." She slanted an amused look at her firstborn. "And Itachi was worrying over if your parents will let you enroll into the Academy."

I grinned at my friend. Had he been like any other child, Itachi would've kicked his mother for dropping that embarrassing tidbit of information but he merely allowed a frown to slip through. I couldn't stop myself: "Aw, if Chi wants me to, I would've followed him to the ends of the earth."

Surprise flickered over my godmother's face before softening into one of pleased approval. "That's…"

"Thank you for the offer," Itachi interjected before his mother could gush or say something embarrassing to his prodigious ego. Out of habit, he held my forearm—in case I collapsed, he could instantly prevent me from losing my first kiss to dirt. "We'll see you after the orientation?"

"Yes," rumbled Uchiha Fugaku, speaking up for the first time. His face was impassive but I knew better than to judge his whole personality from that. Shinobi liked façades; they enjoyed purposely misleading onlookers into stereotyping them, squaring personalities that might be inaccurate onto their person. My father's amiable front could be covering a ruthless dictator; my mother's hotheadedness hid poignancy at the loss of her clan.

"Nice to meet you, Fugaku-sama," I said belatedly, not bothering to bow.

"Likewise, Namikaze-kun." He jerked his head towards where the stream of new students and parents were heading—an indication to move on. "Hurry along now."

"'Kay!" I wanted to speed towards the auditorium where I knew my parents would be waiting. Minato had a speech to give and Kushina had gone ahead to chat up with old friends. But Itachi was holding me back.

"Be careful," said Itachi reproachfully as I hauled him ahead, "I don't want a repeat of last time."

I rounded on him, cheeks heating up; I was amazed Itachi could keep a straight face. Then again, he had no idea about the social norms and thought ' _what happened last time_ ' was something that might've harmed me. "You swore never to speak of it again!"

"Only if you walk at a sedate pace," he compromised, the sly trickster. I groaned, resigned to being the last to enter the auditorium, and fell into step beside him. I glanced surreptitiously through my red-tipped bangs and saw a look of smug satisfaction coloring his pale features.

I was not obedient.

A bit miffed, and quite curious to see how he'd act, I ripped my arm from his grip and took off running. "Mirai, watch ou—!" I glanced back to see Itachi's eyes widening in alarm. But his warning came one second late: I'd already bowled a girl over.

"Ouch!" she yelped. A puppy yipped from underneath her; two other puppies barked ferociously at me and I would've been scared if they weren't so tiny. I studied her features and I instantly recognized the clan markings, even if the pups hadn't been there to give the hint as to who the little was. She was Kiba's older sister, I believe … Hannah? Shana? No, _Hana_.

The Inuzuka girl glared murderously at me when she caught me staring, baring her canines fiercely in a show of intimidation, even though she was the one flat on her back.

Itachi halted beside me and his reinforced grip was like steel. I winced at his superior strength. "I apologize on his behalf," the Uchiha clan's heir said apologetically. Chivalrously offered a hand to the Inuzuka who slapped it away.

"You're going to regret messing with me!" she spat. "Boys," she muttered in utter derision.

I stared after her. "What's _her_ problem?" Even though I was no longer female, I knew the women physiology quite well: no one PMSed at such a young age.

"We will walk," Itachi inserted, " _slowly_." He took one step forward to emphasize what he meant by slow. It would take us roughly three hours to reach the auditorium, at the rate he was indicating we should go.

"Any slower and we'll be going backwards!" He ignored me. A couple of steps later: "Ugh, this is like a father walking the bride to her groom. Itachi, we've still got decades to act like old men, can we just quicken the pace?"

Eventually, in spite of my incessant complaining, we made it. I waved when I saw my father. He was already at the podium but he had yet to begin his speech, obviously because his son was MIA. From the subtle flicker of his eyes, I saw he was indicating where I could sit and I led Itachi there.

I doubted it would be long. I'd edited my father's script the night before. His original script was four-pages long—it would've turned anyone off—so I'd seen to it the third page was missing and crossed out no less than eight paragraphs for him.

Minato looked crushed when I handed him the shortened script. "Boring?" he whispered, rereading his script. "But … it was all relevant info—"

"It's useless to five-year-olds," Kushina interrupted, siding with me. "Trust me, Minato, when I was at my orientation ceremony, I heard only three sentences from the Sandaime."

"I heard his whole speech," said Minato passionately. Ready to regurgitate what the Sandaime had mentioned. My mother and I exchanged identical looks of disgust. "He said—"

"That's just _you_ ," I deadpanned, the same time my mother did, cutting him off before he began.

Minato sighed. "You two are more alike than I'd initially thought." That sounded a lot like he was giving up the argument.

I kept an ear open, listening intently …

…

Somehow, by the time I refocused, the orientation ceremony was over. "You didn't hear a single word, did you?" I smiled innocently up at Itachi. He already knew the answer anyway.

We were left to find our classrooms by ourselves—the coddling was starting to end and it was a mark of incompetence if we couldn't navigate the Academy building—but Minato waylaid us at the entrance. "I hope you'll pay more attention to your instructor than you did here," said my father, lower lip pushed out slightly. He however rewarded Saint Attentive Itachi a brilliant smile. "Watch over my son for me, why don't you?"

"I know you'd be spying on me with the crystal ball of yours," I said. "No need to trouble Chi."

Minato's lips quirked, ruffling our hair. Itachi ducked his head, mildly embarrassed by the amount of attention and affection Minato was showering him. Fugaku was _never_ this affectionate, I knew by gleaning his thoughts. I'd been surprised the first time I felt the slightest sting of jealousy—he wanted a father like Minato's. I was pretty sure this was normal: at one point in time, you'd wish you had a better parent.

I know I did. And lucky me, my wish was granted—I got Minato and Kushina as replacements to the last pair.

I tightened my grip on Itachi comfortingly. He could get all the affection he wanted from me, my family (Kushina was his godmother), his own mother and later, his younger brother.

"We'll be going now!"

"Say goodbye to Kushina before you leave, Mirai!"

I looked back and I waved. "'Kay!"

…

..

.

My first day in school was shaping up to be pretty bad even though my limbs and organs hadn't failed me—yet.

I glared at the yellowish puddle of liquid pooled around my seat—it was not present before lunchtime. My nose informed me what it was before my eyes did: dog pee. My eyebrow twitched violently—I wanted to storm out to the courtyard where a lot of kids had lunch, locate the Inuzuka brat and strangle the life out of her.

"At least it wasn't feces," Itachi pointed out, always one to notice the positive in the negative. So he did know who the culprit was. Anyone with half a brain should be able to guess. Hana was the only with nin-animals in the class.

"How do you expect me to sit there now?" I asked grumpily, spying Hana's seat by the window, further down. Itachi and I had chosen to sit together at the back. He reasoned that it was the mark of a good shinobi to not have anyone behind him; I theorized we'd be closer to the exit to escape. "Hmm. Perhaps a taste of her own medicine is in order." I cackled.

"Don't," said Itachi reproachfully, brows furrowing into a slight frown, "If you retaliate, it'll never end."

"If I lie down and take what she dishes, it'll show that I'm a pushover," I grunted, waving him away. I grabbed Hana's bag and dumped it on the puddle of pee. Had I been feeling more vindictive that hour, I would've torn her books and let it soak the pee up too. I wasn't above doing that, not when I had done worse in my previous life as a well-certified jerk. Fortunately for her, I wasn't in that bad of a mood.

"Where are you going to sit now?"

"There are other places to squeeze into. Besides, it stinks here. You aren't going to continue sitting here, are you? Help me find a seat."

Itachi's nose twitched. "… Alright."

"I knew it."

At the end of my first day, I'd made my first—certainly not my last—enemy. My mother took it differently: "My son is so popular! Girls are already crushing on him! So, so, Mi-chan, what did you think of them?"

"Hana is … _very_ annoying. So are the rest." They kept wheedling me about autographs and my father. My response—"Listen, my father has no time for wannabe cocksuckers when he already has a hot redheaded bombshell at home, so leave me alone. Go back to your geisha training, or whatever they call esteemed prostitutes these days. I don't care"—wouldn't have thrilled her. Everyone in class knew my last name but no one knew my first name.

No one cared. It was all about my father. No, I was _not_ jealous.

Of course my mother didn't know—and you might've forgotten too—but I had the mindset of a female. Even though I had years of experience now, it was still awkward to find myself using a different tool. Though, to be honest, I wouldn't be above … denying the mortal pleasures of men … not even in this body.

(I was genuinely curious. There were only so many times you could be an authentic female then a male.)

Besides, I bore remarkable resemblance to Minato, with a few of Kushina's features to accentuate my own, and my parents had always been attractive people. Once I grew out of the automatic cute kid phase, I probably won't be that bad-looking.

In spite of what the future would behold, I couldn't wait to see how I'd grow up to look like. Assuming, of course, my organs didn't suddenly fail me. I liked to think that my physical energy was steadily increasing to the point I was out of that danger zone now.

"It'll get better," said Itachi. I'd brush it off as petty words meant as halfhearted reassurance but if Itachi was anything definable, he was _not_ halfhearted.

"We'll see," I said.

 **~{IV}~**

Theoretical classes before lunch and physical education thereafter; that was the schedule I had to get used to.

Morning classes projected how fortunate I was to be Itachi's friend. Even though the textbooks were in katakana—for now—I let myself drift off during classes, which wasn't hard to do. Mathematics and science didn't matter to me—since when did you need geometry and physics to kill people? Unless they were teaching us how to kill the brain first.

General knowledge was of course essential to life and I did learn but by _not studying so no excessive amounts of spiritual energy was made_ , it meant that I didn't go out of my way to learn other extracurricular stuff—and even if I should study, I wouldn't. How hardworking do you think I am?

As I grew up, my body took up more strain than my brain did: I trained my body even as others sharpened their minds along with physical abilities.

"Are the weights necessary?" asked Rin one day when she happened to be at my home, shocked by the weighted clothing I was wearing. In her mind, I was still a frail child used to be bound to my bed. I was shocked too when my mother made me wear it but I decided not to complain since even Minato thought it was for the best. The vest was the first article of clothing I dumped on the floor once I reached home from school every day.

I rolled my aching shoulders as I responded to her question, "Yeah. My cells better me churning physical energy like nobody's business. It's to increase … um, endurance and speed." I glanced inquiringly at her. "Didn't my father make you guys wear it?"

"Not at such a young age, no," said Rin, shaking her head. "Are you sure you didn't pull a muscle or strain anything?"

"Mm-hmm." I frowned as I realized she had no reason to be here. If she wanted to visit Minato, she could find him easily in the Hokage's office – even toddlers knew where that place was. "Why are you here again…?"

Rin's smile lit her face up. "I'll leave that up to your parents to tell you." Eyes boring into hers, I perused her mind.

My mouth curved into a tiny smile. "She's pregnant?"

Surprise made her brows arch. "How did…?" A thoughtful and doubtful expression dawned on her pretty features. "You always have an odd way of knowing things you shouldn't. How did you do that?"

I shrugged. "Magic. So?"

"Both your mother and your up-and-coming sibling are doing fine," Rin was smiling as she replied. I still had mixed feelings about the newest addition to our family so I had doubts about this being good news. "Kushina-san's resting though. Pregnancy takes a larger toll on jinchūriki."

It had been at least four months since I spoke to Minato in the kitchen. I still remembered every detail of that conversation.

That meant Kushina was still in the early stages of pregnancy.

"You'll be the midwife?" I asked, coming back to reality instead of entertaining the thoughts playing in my mind.

"Of course. Why? Do I look incapable to you?" Her tone was wry so I surmised she wasn't annoyed. I had never actually seen Rin pissed-off at me before. I made a big show of squinting at her and humming in deep, doubtful thought. Rolling her eyes, she whacked my head.

"Ouch!" Gentle, sweet and kind were so overrated these days. I voiced what I thought loudly, dancing out of the way laughingly before she could pinch my cheek.

"Mirai!"

I turned. "What?" I asked, grinning cheekily.

Her smile was pinched. "Pick up your vest!"

If she became a mother, she'd never stop lecturing the kid. Speaking of motherhood, I realized I'd probably be experiencing fatherhood instead. It sounded intriguing. What drew my interest more was… "Do you have a boyfriend, Rin?" I beamed when she spluttered, cheeks pinking. "You _do_? Is it Obito?"

"Heavens, no! What makes you think so?"

Wow, do I feel sorry for Obito or what. I mean, she denied that so quickly. I wasn't the one being rejected but I felt _hurt_ on Obito's behalf. It was pretty much canon … but in fandom, most ObiRin shippers tend to forget that it had been one-sided. Rin was a good friend, that's it. And to the end, it seemed to be Obito only had a crush on Rin; he wasn't deeply in love with. Why he went berserk for her was, to me, not because of the crush: it was because she had been the only one who had shown him compassion, who supported him – the kindest person in the world ended up with a cruel fate.

His nihilism seemed to have stemmed from that. Or I sucked at analyzing the situation.

"You still like Kakashi?" Her face hardened to stone and I, once again, was forced to acknowledge the fact that I was not as tactful as I thought I was. I struggled to respond over a bout of awkward coughing from my end. "Erm, cough, eh—what I mean to say is—"

"Don't you think you're too young to be thinking about love?" Rin returned, voice significantly cool. I winced as if she'd dropped an ice cube into my shirt.

"I, uh, I'm going to be six soon," I mumbled lamely in defense. "But you're right; I'm too young, yep! I'm going to do my homework, bye!"

I got the hell out of there but I was waylaid when I saw my slumbering mother. Her red hair seemed to be glowing during her pregnancy. My eyes fell on the nonexistent baby bump – it had yet to show itself. I gingerly placed my trembling hand on my mother's stomach. Through the articles of clothing, I felt warmth emanating from her but I couldn't feel the baby yet.

Thinking about Naruto brought a frown to my face. I wasn't averse to having another kid in the house now that I was more independent—being able to take care of myself had erased the fear of being abandoned in favor of a healthy kid—but Naruto's birth had signified the beginning of how shit went downhill.

I'd be glad once this was over.

"I want to meet you, too, despite everything; the adults aren't the only ones anticipating this –bito," I whispered to the baby before running to my room, since I heard Rin getting closer to the sitting room. I closed the door and slumped against it, heaving a sigh of relief once I was alone.

Can't believe Rin—a medic-nin—was capable of scaring me off. After pondering about it, I surmised she must've been using killing intent against me. I wondered when I can learn it. From the name alone, I deduced that it was simply the overwhelming intent to kill. Wouldn't it be hard to exude it to someone you were only mildly annoyed at?

That, or she really wanted to kill me for bringing Kakashi up.

Well, I better watch myself around her.

 **~{IV}~**

After the conversation with Rin, I had a tough time looking at Obito without shooting him tragic looks and shaking my head or patting his shoulder in comfort. "Sensei, I'm borrowing Mirai for a bit," Obito said after I patted him for the thirtieth time that hour—what, he was sitting right across Rin! Tsk, tsk. Minato looked confused but nodded, gazing at us curiously as Obito muscled me out of the dining room.

"Did something happen between them?" Kushina's voice was muffled as she asked that once we were safely barricaded in the toilet. I could sense their growing confusion at this turn of events.

"What's your problem?" I asked the same time Obito did. I blinked, choosing to answer first. "Well, not to hurt you but…"

"But?" he prompted, somewhat impatiently, crouching before me as I was sat on the toilet's lid. His quick movement momentarily displaced the cloth, revealing the scar that made me twitch—he probably didn't mean to intimidate me.

"… Rin's not in love with you." Obito's arm twitched and while I didn't feel a single reek of KI, I had a feeling—that only the practitioners of ninshū had—he wanted to chuck me out the toilet window. I patted his arm. He jerked that arm away. "Sorry –bito."

I thought Obito would just let me run free but he was blocking the door. The toilet was only so big. I tapped the rim of the sink repeatedly. Obito shot me a sharp look when he realized I was tapping an SOS message—they taught it pretty early in the school year. "Where did you hear that?" He sniffled, his eyes might be swimming in tears.

"Hear? I _asked_ –bito."

Obito's shoulders slumped as he sighed. Gloom pressed on his back. "Don't talk about it anymore."

"Er, I just want to say—"

"Mirai, save it."

"But—!" He phased through the door, ending the conversation there and then. Kushina's mind called to me, where was her son? She was wondering. So I quickly scampered out of the bathroom, shooting Obito a foul look as I resumed my seat.

There was a short pause as everyone was silent, staring alternately between me and Obito. Rin cleared her throat, finally breaking the tense silence. Obito did not look at her and the masked half of his face was turned to her; open hurt must be splayed on his face though. Since he wasn't facing me, I couldn't confirm that. I could easily create a link between us but … heartbreak sounded terribly painful to experience, so no thanks.

"So … I suppose the both of you are done answering Mother Nature's call?" She arched a doubtful brow to let us know that excuse wasn't going to cut it.

"Mirai should be old enough to do it alone, apparently not," was Obito's snappish retort. He could be very sharp with his words when he wanted to, though Kakashi was usually on the receiving end of this and only because the silver-haired shinobi had started it.

I lurched up defensively. "Fuck y—!"

"Where did you hear that word –ttebane?!" shrilled Kushina, slamming her fist on the table hard enough to crack it. I flinched as I realized my slip of tongue. No cuss words beneath the Namikaze household's roof. Ever.

I squeaked, "He did –bito." Pointed my finger at Obito to lay the blame.

"Hey, I didn't—gah!"

Suffice to say, Kushina really laid into us about vulgarity and proper usage of language around children.

 **~{IV}~**

* * *

 **Drabble #4:** Side-story, based on the previous statement of "what happened last time" in the chapter: ItaMirai ten years later. Not canon, I don't think. For those interested, leave a review; for those impartial to ItaMirai, review anyway, and leave a note that you don't want the drabble.

 **Question:** What sort of friend do you think Itachi is? And Mirai, too. Which would you rather have as a best friend/someone you want on your side?

 **R &R**


	5. The Rabbit Sage

**_BAD APPLE_**

 **5\. The Rabbit Sage**

Our first assessment tests came back and I was sure it baffled the whole of Konoha – if they even bothered to know. It was general knowledge – and fact – that I was the Fourth's son.

You know what that meant?

It meant expectations.

Though I did decently in strategy and aced geography and mathematics, my physical portion was laughable. My aim was poor, my strength minimal at best, my stamina not-so-good and my speed only slightly better than the former.

Needless to say, Itachi was at the top of the class while I fell somewhere in the average.

This was unacceptable even though my parents insisted I had room to improve. Kushina hadn't been the best of her class either and she became a _terrific_ kunoichi. I should not lose hope, she said.

I did not want to be average.

I wanted to be _great_ —the stuff of legends, where the whisper of my name would send shivers down your spine. Like knives scrapping at the protruding of the spine. The day my report card came back, the day I saw the quiet disappointment in my form teacher's eyes, I went to a random training ground to sulk.

If my father wanted to find me, he could've used Hiraishin so I didn't care if he was panicking or not that I left without a word.

I refused to settle for average.

A rustle from the bushes of green itched for attention: my eyes shifted suspiciously to the greenery. I felt extremely ridiculous when only a white rabbit popped out. Bloody red eyes pinned on me. Its head twitched, glanced left and right. Irritation brewed within me at the memory the rabbit sparked: my form teacher, Funeno Daikoku, shaking his head in confusion.

"If you're your father's son, you should've been able to do it. These grades, for someone of your lineage, are frankly disappointing."

Fuck.

Red threads writhed like infuriated snakes, hissing in the air. I so wanted to strangle Funeno for the flush of humiliation he washed through me—

A screech: the rabbit entangled in my chakra threads. A snarl contorted my mouth, and before I could reign in my anger, the rabbit paid the price.

A crimson plait punched through white fur and flesh, reached the heart, and abruptly – only the ringing silence of the training ground, of blood dripping onto grass, of birds chirping, accompanied me. The roar of my blood, proof of my anger, had evaporated.

Drip.

Hikenshi evaporated. Cool air kissed my arms, strangely bare without the red threads I'd gotten used to for months.

Drop.

I killed something.

Drip.

I wasn't angry anymore.

…

And in that moment, that was all that mattered.

That, no matter how insignificant, I still wielded some power – it gave me hope. Someday, it won't be just a meager creature like a rabbit hanging limply and dead at the end of my red threads; it'd be a deadly shinobi I'd bested to claim the title of the greatest.

(I won't be the weak, crippled son of the Yondaime, a blot on his great name. I refuse to. Minato deserves so much better, a son who could further boost his name, and I refuse to let Naruto take all the glory—)

Just a lick of power.

…

Throat suddenly dry, I thirsted for more. Craved for greater heights. The ground was too low for me.

 **~{V}~**

My gloom clogged the apartment up. I brushed off Kushina's worried inquiries to hole myself up in my room. Flipping open my notebook where the canon characters had been listed in messy, handwritten English, I paused at Tayuya's name.

Her spirit monsters kept jumping back to me. While Tayuya was a decent fighter by herself, her spirit monsters had served as a large part of her strength. How to emulate it? Her Summons were proof spiritual energy could be used to create forms from nothing, just that it couldn't be touched.

That hardly helped. So what if I could envision into existence a buffed-up Hercules who couldn't even touch his enemies, much less attack them?

I was trapped in a catch-22. And I hated this stagnancy. Mood still in the dump, I decided to practice my aim. My chakra threads held up a target while I flung kunai halfheartedly. I was throwing for the thirty-seventh time when _he who could cross dimensions_ invaded my privacy without permission.

"Go away," I snapped crankily.

Obito, suddenly a bad-ass with his Mangekyō Sharingan, heaved an impressive sigh. His large, gloved hand fell to encompass my head, pulling me into his chest; he embraced me. I stiffened. I could still feel the sensation of being him, a hand snapping a man's neck effortlessly—

Obito was destined for greatness. His Mangekyō being awakened had only aided him in his path.

I needed something—a _deus ex machina_ —but nothing. Hikenshi may be able to form a translucent barrier and when I wrapped threads around my whole body, I could muster a form of chakra armor, it was useless if I had little physical strength to down my enemies.

That meant weapon-handling. Much physical strength or not, a slit to the throat would kill anyone. Except for those who'd been brought back by the Summoning: Impure World Jutsu.

"I used to be dead last," Obito's murmuring voice displaced several strands of my red-tipped hair. "Did you remember when I'd told you stories about my failures?"

"…Yes. Not that it matters, you're strong now." My lips curled. "Fact is I don't have the Mangekyō like you do to give me a boost."

His arms around me tightened. Like I was his teddy bear. He propped his chin on my hair and I couldn't stop myself from curling into his chest—where I knew I'd feel safe, warm, protected and cherished. "I worked hard to reach where I am, Mirai. I lost my best friend for the power. Would you pay the same price for power?"

Itachi's death for more power?

Somehow, my gut twisted uncomfortably. No denial immediately leapt to my lips. I wanted to make my parents proud, to prove to those idiots who underestimated me _wrong_ —so as long as they were alive for me to rub my achievement into their faces—

No.

"I don't want to feel what you feel." That much was clear to me. The emptiness Itachi's death would leave in my wake would be too unbearable; no power on earth would worth the price. I'd already lost it at the prospect of Itachi's death going absolutely according to canon.

"That's good."

"Why are you here?" I asked, wryness twisting my lips upwards.

Obito adjusted his grip on me. "Came here for free dinner and Kushina-san's cooking. I heard about what happened—"

Humiliation curdled in my gut. "Funeno spread the word, didn't he?" I spat murderously.

Obito didn't bother denying it. I always had an intuition for guessing when people were lying – even if they were white lies. "Prove them wrong," was all he said.

…

Kill them all was more like it –bito.

 **~{V}~**

I turned to my mother for more help. My father was a no-go and Obito was almost as busy as Minato these days; Rin was a medic-nin and virtually useless to me. I couldn't stop the stir of resentment. My father had so little time to spend with me – us – these days. I swear, the shinobi see more of him than I do.

I'd long-since stopped agonizing over my short-ends and berating myself about my ostensible selfishness.

Short-ends like how it was _never ever_ enough for me. Minato gave me love, certainly much more than my previous sperm donor did, but I'd always want more because there was so much more left to give. Mind ( _think only of me_ ), body ( _always be there_ ), soul ( _in this life or the next, we'll never be apart_ ).

I could only quell them.

(They make me a better person, my parents. For them, I could endure, quell and tame even the cruelest and hungriest of my negative desires.)

My mother, Kushina, was devoted. Simply devoted. I loved it and I reveled in the feeling, knowing that once Naruto was born, the brunt of my resentment will be borne by her. I'd give her untainted love as long as I can before something incited another emotion.

…

"That's wonderful, Mirai – a vast improvement from yesterday!"

Eight shuriken out of twelve connected with the targets. I counted to ten mentally, trying to keep my temper in check, and extending the amount of numbers to count—one Mississippi, two Mississippi—but it barely quelled the ringing in my ears for my mother's voice to permeate through.

Kushina's gentle touch tilted my chin. Her handkerchief was wiping sweat off my brow. "Don't look so sad, Mi-chan," she consoled, "Hard work pays off someday."

But I want immediate results!

I pursed my lips, shaking off her hand. "You're my mother, you're supposed to say that." I got to my feet, ignoring how my legs quivered with tremulous energy, and turned to the punching log. "Okaa-sama, maybe you should go home and prepare dinner first? I think I'm going to stay out late tonight."

Kushina frowned. "Why push yourself so hard, Mi-chan? Enjoy your childhood more!" In the flashes of her mind's eye, I saw her own stained childhood marked by war and violence – she had no time for the leisure I now had in spades. And to her, I was wasting them away.

What should I say?

Reading and playing with children my age are inappropriate for me? I should be rigorously spewing physical energy anyway. This was for my survival – in more ways than one.

"I'm going to make you proud someday," I said instead, hoping to appease her.

She brushed her fingers over my scalp. Expression so tender she looked like she might cry. "You do, Mirai."

I said nothing in response. Red threads wrapped around my knuckles, protecting then, then I shifted my attention to the punching log.

Working myself into the ground was easy. Tiring made the aftermath relaxing and loosening. Once I let all the pent-up frustration and energy lose, it was easy to sleep without nightmares – of Itachi dying, of my parents being impaled, of Rin and Obito, dead and broken.

Emotions – love – weren't simple.

…

I don't understand why I keep hurting my mother even when I had no intention of doing so.

Knowing the extent of how much my action – my determination to keep up a training regime – hurt her confused me. The jumbled mess of confusion made me angry at my nifty ability to do ninshū.

Every hurt was like a rain of needles on my heart.

It wasn't easy to tune her out of my life. She'd became a part of me – of Namikaze Mirai, as his mother – and our spiritual energies just twinned whenever we were in the acceptable range, even without my conscious effort to connect.

It was a gift as much as it was a curse.

(You don't need to keep reminding me of how terrible a person I could be at times.)

 **~{V}~**

School was torture.

I heard the whispers, the snickers, the stares – "That's the Yondaime's son, isn't he? I hear he's a disabled kid." "Addled brain?" "Hah, useless body is more like it!" – and I _hated_ it. Judgmental. All of them were like that.

Back when I was younger, in another life, I'd confronted the same thing: the gazes, the laughs, the mockery – "Isn't that the girl abandoned by her parents?" "Yeah, must be 'coz of her face." "A face even a mother can't love, haha."

People pointed and said my glare was too scary, the sign of a violent kid, a delinquent.

I softened my eyes, tried to smile at my classmates, and – my locker desecrated, books ripped.

If you were strong, they isolated you.

If you were weak, they bullied you.

The same thing applied here. Geniuses such as Itachi were resented, idolized, put on a pedestal to be isolated from others—at the top. This world's brats had pegged me as the weak, the one below the average.

It was infuriating.

I'd stopped trying to change myself when I realized one extremely crucial thing in the world: even if _I_ changed, _the world_ wouldn't. I was satisfied with myself as a non-conformist. Satisfied, but not happy.

I refused to be trampled underfoot. I'd claw my way to the top. But, whether I was on a pedestal or I was mud at the soles of feet, the unchanging matter was my disinclination to be integrated with the rest. I despised the common crowd.

Mindless sheep, following society's dictation of normal.

(I'm special. It's obvious: I was the only one reborn. If they can't see it, it's those idiots loss.)

I enjoyed the shinobi classes, the many ways to kill someone, because it felt … _freeing_. Right. Survival of the fittest, the natural course of nature. In my past life, the law-enforcers that dictated killing people was wrong were fucking hypocritical. Such laws were only enforced so that those who created the laws wouldn't run the risk of being killed. And everyone followed blindly for fear of their lives, wishing to believe that in the existence of laws, no one would kill them.

It worked. To a certain extent. Evidently, judging by the crime rates in my previous world, the brainwashing either faded, the brainwashed went cuckoo or didn't work from the beginning.

Here, it was honest stuff. They killed when they wanted to. They killed when ordered to. No pretenses. Freeing.

The knot of frustration and fury towards the law accumulated in my previous life loosened, unknotting and disintegrating. You'd find it funny that I was actually interested in studying law, to be a defendant. I could care less about the criminals running around, if I did manage to bail them out. Of course, there were truly innocent people in the wrong place and time, too—they deserved _more_ of a chance. Deserved more than a defendant only in it for the money instead of truly believing in their innocence.

Ah, but – that was history now, wasn't it?

I was in another world, ruled by another law: be loyal to your village, die for it, anything less than utter devotion makes you lower than trash.

Since when was I lawful?

I glanced around my classroom, mouth curled into a satisfied smirk in spite of the annoyance Hana's presence caused me.

"Mirai?" I cocked my head at Itachi's call. "Why do you look so happy about the Nidaime's death?"

Funeno was talking about that? I could care less. My eyes were cold on him. I couldn't dredge up a reason why I thought he was a pleasant man on first glance during the first day of school.

Itachi poked me. I snorted, waving his inquiry away. "Nothing, Chi, absolutely nothing."

Itachi looked at me for a moment. Then he turned away; his gaze was simple enough to decipher: he did not believe me.

…

That was another dilemma, you see.

I _wanted_ to be Itachi's friend. We were friends before coming to the Academy, before I was cruelly reminded of how the world worked – judging, always judging for weakness, and preying on it – so I'd gotten attached to him in the period where I'd forgotten my core values. I never had true friends in my previous life. There were allies, classmates that were useful when a subject I struggled in came up, but ultimately, nothing more.

My general distrust of humanity contributed to my pitifully lonely existence. Having Itachi's company – and Obito and Rin – made me recall that companionship was a beautiful thing as it was depicted in fiction.

When I watched Naruto, what amazed me, what made me so in awe, so enthralled were the lengths Naruto would go for Sasuke. Sakura's love for Sasuke, though flimsy to others and unreasonably fanatic, _moved_ me—I wanted that sort of devotion, that fanatic love of _yes I'll rip my heart out for you if you'll just love me_ , even if I wouldn't reciprocate it.

What Kimimaro and Orochimaru had even; I could think of _very_ few things I wouldn't give for that sort of devotion to be directed at me.

True friends—even though Sasuke was an asshole about it—like them … I _wanted_ one. A friend like that. A devoted love from someone. Someone who would always be by side through thick and thin and plunge through darkness and lava to reach me if I ever fall.

I understood it was a bit unfair to project such hope on Itachi. To envision him as such when he might fail my expectations spectacularly in the end but …

My personality wasn't charming and not especially friendly to people that blended in with the normal crowds. So my dilemma was how my personality—my sheer disconnection to the village and society, bitterly cynical—might turn him off.

Itachi was dangerous that way—he made me weak, he made me wish I could be a better person, he made me shrivel in fear that he'd leave me alone.

A prod in my rib brought me back to my classroom. I didn't realize I was gripping my pencil so hard that I could've snapped it. Itachi was staring at me pointedly. "Are you paying attention in class?"

"Of course I am!"

"Sensei was just joking about the Suicide Forest," Itachi said lowly. "So don't be afraid of the ghosts."

Whaaaat…? I decided to just go along with it instead of indirectly admitting that I hadn't been paying attention. "I know," I mumbled out of the corner of my mouth.

"What were you thinking about?" Itachi's black eyes flickered to the lecturing teacher at the front for a second, then back to me. Suzume, the second teacher after Funeno, responsible for our class was taking over for the mathematics class. She'd begun explaining how to count the mean of a data. It was a lecture we could both afford to miss.

I offered him a beguiling smile. "I was just thinking about missions we can go on together when we become shinobi." Lies came naturally from my mouth.

"We might not even be in the same team." Itachi, the ever logical one, pointed out.

"No, teams are built based on strengths and weaknesses … the Rookie of the Year, the Kunoichi of the Year and the Dead Last."

Hm, it was awfully tempting to recreate something like Team 7 – Sasuke and Naruto's older brothers being the prominent members instead.

But I doubted my ego could stomach being dead last. And kicking Itachi out of the rookie position was damned near impossible for me right now.

I better change the subject, divert his attention. "So you're expecting me to drop the last place, eh?" I jostled his ribs with an elbow, smirking, daring him.

"Who knows, you might surpass me one day," said Itachi placatingly.

Awww.

"Chi!" I knocked him down, affection swelling. " _I adore you_ ," I murmured in his ear. He stopped squirming like I'd run a sword through his heart, killing him.

"Oi! Both of you back there, pay attention in class! Save the roughhousing for later!" I pulled away, unsure if Itachi had heard me or if he'd replied, but I certainly didn't miss Suzune's shrill cry.

I scowled at her.

Bitch.

 **~{V}~**

We were quiet on our walk home. Well, I say walk, but it's more like Itachi was carrying me back home since I'd ran out of stamina for the day and I was feeling especially lazy. Itachi did this for the dango he'd find waiting on a platter on my dining table – Kushina was good at baking, so delicacies were her specialty – but I suppose it was also a bit for me too.

I tugged absentmindedly on Itachi's hair that was gathered in a ponytail. The rhythmic jostle as the six-year-old walked ahead without a sign of exertion made me sleepy. "Chi," I said, just because I could get away with tagging him a nickname.

"Hn?"

"We're there." I announced as I yawned, then I blinked, caught by honest surprise. A foreign presence – an unfamiliar twang of spiritual energy – was in my apartment. I heard two loud voices: my mother's and a man that was not my father. Itachi gave me a sideway glance.

"You didn't say you had a visitor today," said Itachi; a statement to prompt an explanation.

I could only shrug. "I didn't know." I slid off Itachi, back on my unsteady feet. "Come on in anyway." The door was unlocked – no one would be dumb enough to rob a shinobi's house, much less the Yellow Flash's – so we entered without fuss. Though my legs did feel like jelly. "Tadaima!"

"Mirai!" My brows pinched in surprise. Otou-sama? He didn't come home so early anymore. What's the—? "And Itachi. Okaeri." Minato sat at the dining table, easily visible from the foyer that oversaw the sitting room and a hallway that turned to the bathroom and bedrooms. Sitting across Minato was …

Him. The legendary Toad Sage.

Curious eyes prodded at my form. Itachi bowed respectfully, recognizing the man from his excessive study of history and the shinobi of Konoha. "Jiraiya-sama, it's an honor to meet you."

Jiraiya – white-haired, boisterous as he was depicted to be with loud clothes – guffawed, ruffling Itachi's hair. Obviously, the recognition was stroking his ego.

"Jiraiya?" I feigned surprise. "I suppose I must give a call to inform him how he's left his ugly mug here."

"Mirai," chided Minato, even though he seemed highly amused. "That's my mentor, the person who helped made me Hokage. Why don't you greet him nicely? Like Itachi did."

"Yeah, Mirai, do it like Itachi did," Jiraiya goaded. His dark eyes met mine: slitted pupils against normal round pupils. Something shifted in his eyes, an emotion displaced. Our spiritual energies tentatively slithered together; providing me the slightest insight into his thinking. I could read people like books due to ninshū even though real ninshū back in the days didn't work the same way.

Ninshū worked only when both parties gave consent to join minds. Kinda like having sexual intercourse actually, agreement from both parties.

But in this era, only I could control my spiritual energy to connect so I the say in the connection. But Jiraiya's spiritual energy didn't bend, didn't give in and spill secrets as easily as others did! I was shocked to find he was repelling me, however subconsciously.

How did he do that?

His thoughts jarred me: _those eyes are just like Orochimaru's. Minato's son … what would he grow up to be?_

(Long, gold hair jagged in red, pale skin, eyes like a kaleidoscope of emotions: juggling and rolling around, never decisive for one moment, reflecting the hysteria of his laughter as he stood among black, fox-human creatures—)

I reeled back, startled. What was that? Was it Jiraiya's overactive imagination or …?

"Mirai?" Minato probed, reaching out to touch my head. "Is something wrong? You're pale all of a sudden. Do you need to sit?"

I shook my head mutely, looking suspiciously at Jiraiya as I sidled to Minato's side. Itachi was picking at the dango in the middle of the table, and for the entire world to see, uncaring of what was happening. But I knew he was watching every movement.

"What's with that kid?" asked Jiraiya loudly. He only had two volumes, it would seem: loud and louder. The Sage was eyeing me with great interest. "When you meant crippled, do you mean his addled brain or disabled body?"

"Sensei!" Minato's grip tightened on me. His eyes tautened in displeasure.

But his offense was nothing in comparison to the surge of indignation swelling in me. I was about to unleash upon him a verbal shitstorm that would send him crying to his mentor, but someone else beat me to it.

"That's rude!" Obito's voice blustered a second before I rose to my own defense. I turned: he'd poked his head out of the kitchen doorway to scowl heavily at the white-haired shinobi. "Mirai's smarter than you were at his age, maybe even smarter than you are now! Right, Mi-chan?" He switched his glare for a grin at me.

And even though patches of his burnt flesh showed through the cloth, even though we'd aged and changed in subtle ways, I couldn't help but remember when he'd defended me against Kakashi's jibes.

Beneath it all, this was still Obito— _my_ Obito—and I laughed as I agreed.

…

It made the betrayal so much sadder.

Sad when it was supposed to be a happy day: the birth of Naruto, the newest addition to our family.

As if betrayals couldn't be any sadder when the act itself came from loved ones.

 **~{V}~**

* * *

 **Afterthought:** Expanding more on Mirai's character as an anti-hero. Mirai and the bad aspects of his personality will always be fighting an eternal war, quelled only by the presence of Mirai's loved ones; a struggle for as long as he lived to not lose himself to the dark side.

 **Drabble #5:** Obito and Mirai, an "I told you so" in correspondence to the last chapter's ending.

 **Question:** How do you keep yourselves motivated with a story? I've trouble with it. A lot of trouble. =.=

 **R &R**


	6. Big Fox, Little Scapegoat

**_-BAD APPLE-_**

 **6\. Big Fox, Little Scapegoat [Revised]**

If someone asked me later, I wouldn't be able to describe the day of my baby brother's birth in full detail. Not that anyone would dare to approach me after that night.

All the bad memories cropped there, so dark that it churned and blotted out other memories.

It was a bright autumn morning, I recalled. I walked to school with Itachi, in good spirits—or as terrific my mood could be with the impending birth of my brother—and I even bought dango to share with him, and we did reach school. I did something that seemed inconsequential in the grand scheme of things: I copied Itachi's homework because I didn't do it last night, busy I was with playing this world's equivalent of Snap against my mother.

( _My mother—that was a nice memory. I remembered her smile, the vibrant red of her hair, and those soft purple eyes so much like mine_ )

Screams punctured the air, hammering in the reality of what I was seeing. I reeled back, slamming into Itachi who barely caught me. How my body was wracked with trembles had little to do with my physical energy now.

"K—Kyūbi…?"

How was that possible? It broke free in spite of everything?

Why? It can't have been Kakashi; he has no Sharingan. And Obito would never do it, he had no reason to this time around.

( _It was sunny just moments ago but, as if the evil emanating from the Kyūbi was a ladle, it stirred the clouds, forming a gaping center in the darkening sky_ )

"Mirai, don't stop running!" cried Itachi, tugging urgently on my hand.

I couldn't stop the scowl from forming. He didn't need to irk me when my confusion and utter lack of knowledge were already spiting on me. "Which part of me does it look like it's not running?" I retorted, needing to raise my voice over the cacophony.

Itachi blinked. "Your mouth." I wanted to kill that brat for his cheekiness but I didn't have the chance.

"Namikaze, Uchiha, hurry over here!" Funeno-sensei—our homeroom teacher—was the one shouting at us. His face was pale with terror, sweat beading down his cheek. I was mentally mocking him in spite of the situation but that didn't stop me from hurrying towards him.

Up ahead in the schoolyard, I saw all the teachers trying to keep order. I spotted the youngest class making their way up to the Hokage Mountain where the shelters were already. Terror sharpened my senses: I saw everything with crisp clarity.

The earth seemed to be shaking from the force of the Kyūbi's continuous roar. Students bowling one another down in search for younger and elder relatives, shouting in panic and fear, and amidst it, I saw a lost puppy whimpering, lost, kicked around; Hana's puppy.

In a rare moment of altruism, the red threads of my chakra snatched it off the ground. It yelped. I deposited it in Itachi's face and it was purely intentional. We skidded to a halt. Itachi needed both hands—so he released me—to rip the puppy off his face. His expression was hilarious. I wished I had a camera to capture it in eternal memory.

I burst out laughing even though we were in a dire situation. I hunched over, slapping my thighs. Itachi dumped it on my head. The extra weight surprised me, nearly causing me to overbalance. I yelped as I threw it off me. "It was hurt." Itachi's tone was reproachful.

"Hey, if I'd left it there, it would've gotten even more injured!" The puppy yipped in agreement, limping over to us even though it must've known how we never got along with its owner. I ignored it curling up at my feet for affection; instead, I squinted over Itachi's shoulder. "Is it me or is the school empty?"

"No, it's not you … it's …" Itachi kindly left out how we'd been ditched because I'd messed around and delayed us. I saw a steady line streaming into the Hokage Mountain—the distance was great so I only saw a small hole of black that was actually the gaping entrance to the shelters.

"How did they move so fast?" I was mildly impressed.

"Saving one's own life must be good incentive." Itachi pointed in the direction of the Kyūbi. I turned only to see a massive gathering of Yin and Yang energy: a bijūdama that overshadowed Konoha with its blinding glare. It was so powerful the air distorted, drawn into its direction, whipping our clothes and hair. I was ashamed to admit I clung to Itachi and cried out in fear.

To be fair, the Kyūbi charging up a bijūdama wasn't a courage-inspiring scene.

"If that hits Konoha," Itachi started to say in a strained, choked voice, but didn't finish (and I didn't get to start how the monster razing down the village was the least of our concerns) when, in a flash of white, the bijūdama threatening to raze Konoha to the ground—and obliterate us—disappeared. "It's gone," he gasped, his grip on my shirt loosening.

I looked instinctively in the direction of my father's face on the Hokage Mountain.

( _A speck of white in the gleam of darkness—my father had arrived to save the village—_ )

The earth shook one last time from the last defiant roar of the monster. And was gone.

I slumped to the ground, weak legs shutting down completely. Itachi slid down next to me. Seeing as we were both fine even though we weren't in the shelters, I'd say the evacuation was overkill. But my voice was muted with shock.

I didn't know how long it was before the feeling returned to my legs, shaking me out of my shock. I sprang to my feet, ignoring how they protested. Itachi screamed at me to not move. I ignored him and kept running, plunging through the evil that thickened the atmosphere. My spiritual energy yearned for those familiar to me. I stretched desperately in the yawning gap that was the distance of our minds, struggling to touch even wisps of Kushina, Minato, Obito and Rin.

My legs didn't fail me, surprisingly enough, as I sped through the empty village streets.

Nothing.

No signal from any of them … not for—Obito!

I shouted his name, hoping he'd hear me. But evidently, he hadn't heard. He would've been by my side in the blink of an eye—literally—if he could. That meant something was very, very wrong.

Obito's spiritual energy brushed against my own—even as the chasm between our consciousness widened to the depths of black abyss—and I heard it: his scream, pleading and begging—

I threw myself forward, grasping blindly for I saw nothing before me. Even the Kyūbi had disappeared in a cloak of burning, bloody red.

The connection snapped.

The void yawned back at me.

 _(—and he crushed my life into glass shards_ )

Reuniting with Rin was the worst part. The absolute worst: she carried a bundle in her arms I was sure, without even needing to look, was my brother. Her face was streaked with tears. The space in between the beats of my heart ached with the loss of Minato, Kushina and Obito.

…

..

.

"What happened?"

 **~{VI}~**

It was Rin who found me first. I'd say it was _I_ who found Rin but that hardly mattered when tears streaked her cheeks. An infant rested in the cradle of her arms, swathed in blue blankets. When I saw them, the rest of the world seemed to have buzzed out of existence.

I hardly paid attention to the swarm of shinobi, locating the dead, tending to the injured, searching for survivors and thanking the gods that they were alive or screaming in anguish and unbridled fury at what the Kyūbi had taken from them. Amidst the chaos, there was only Rin and—a peek of blonde from the blankets—Naruto.

My brother, Naruto.

Such a surreal thought.

"Where're my parents?" My frozen mouth had moved to ask before my brain could finish processing the implication of her carrying Naruto, and not a proud mother or delighted father. Or even a hopeful godfather—Obito wanted that role, didn't he? So why wasn't here vying for it? Did he want Jiraiya that perverted failure to steal his spot of glory?

"Not here." Rin touched my shoulder and quickly led me away. Beneath the stain of tears and grief, I saw fear. She cast terrified looks behind her as she rushed us past the rubble where the front of Konoha once stood. I tried not to let her fear infect me.

"Rin, where're we going?" I demanded even though I knew better. "Otou-sama, Okaa-sama—even Obito! Where are they?" I faltered when Rin's next breath tripped over a sob of despair. "…Rin?" We stumbled into the playground with quickened steps. I recognized it as a familiar landmark. Round the next block would be my parents' apartment.

"Do … do you want to hold your brother?" Her voice was tremulous. I nodded, not seeing the harm and hoping it would get her to move on to the next topic quickly. I held out my arms for the infant. Rin carefully adjusted Naruto's weight and eased him into my hold. He looked no different from the baby in canon; whisker marks were visible upon his peachy skin. I didn't have the whisker marks. Instead, the Kyūbi's influence manifested in my slitted pupils that became the basis upon which Jiraiya accused Kushina of infidelity (with Orochimaru of all people, yeuck).

I didn't bother joining minds with my brother. He was a baby, what could he be thinking that would be of use to me? But … I didn't want to join minds with Rin either. She was crying pretty badly and obviously, the emotional agony she was going through was excruciating. Using ninshū to connect meant I'd be able to feel her agony too and contrary to popular belief, I wasn't in the habit of inflicting pain upon myself.

I tightened my grip on Naruto with my dominant arm, easing my right hand from under his weight to peel the layers of blankets away and I saw the absolute last thing I wanted to see: the Eight Trigram Seal.

"Are my parents … dead?" I whispered softly, finally tearing my eyes away from the baby's naked abdomen to look at Rin. I couldn't seem to dredge up … _anything_ in this empty pit that was my heart.

"Minato-sensei is … the Shinigami took his soul but—we can't find Kushina-san's body." Rin inhaled a shuddery breath, wiping at her eyes furiously. "Obito … something happened—I don't know what, I – hic—" Her teary chocolate-colored eyes met mine. Our spiritual energies synched wordlessly. I rifted through her mind and I was stunned by one of the most recent memories: the Kyūbi's eyes were patterned like Obito's Mangekyō.

Another memory drifted to mind—her memory, not my own: Obito was drenched in unnatural blackness not of his clothes, the scarred-half his face masked in black. His teeth were gritted, face twisted in agony, body stiff and jerky.

Rin's voice and bewilderment and shock piercing the memory: "Obito, what're you—?"

"You—ungh—we can be together with Kakashi again, even Minato-sensei will be there once the plan is enacted. Guh—Rin, you've to— It will be as if this nightmare has never happened!" Obito staggered away from Rin, his voice horribly distorted between terror and panic, hope and optimism; two people speaking differing opinions through one mouth. The arm coated in black gestured to my father's prone, soulless, lifeless form.

(A speck of white in the dirt)

"Obito!" Rin was screaming, voice hoarse and high, "What happened? Why did you extract the Kyūbi? _Come back—!_ "

"RinRin _Rin_ —" Rin's panic swelled within the memory and her horror was mirrored on Obito's scarred face; the desperation called her to him. She lurched forward, squalling newborn Naruto still in her arms, a hand stretched towards Obito. His blackened arm rose to catch her hand, curling invitingly. Obito's horror was palpable and his Mangekyō spun wildly, tears burning the red, as he wrenched his whole body the other way, the darkness covering him flexing. "No, no, no, _not Rin_ , not her—!" The air before him distorted, rippling.

(I heard him screaming again, pleading and begging.)

With what seemed to be the last vestiges of his strength, Obito lurched back into the rip in space, the name of the girl he loved falling from his lips as his last cry before Kamui twisted into the yawning void.

Her hand closed on thin air. She cried out as darkness fell and the memory collapsed into shambles in my mind's eye.

 **~{VI}~**

My ears were still ringing as ANBU descended upon us.

Something tightened the spot between my shoulder blades: I was tense and ready to fight even though innately, I knew I'd stood no chance. My spiritual energy scanned them in the span of a second and nothing—they were unmoving, _unfeeling_ , killing machines—ROOT. Danzō's weapons.

Red threads burst from my back and enveloped all three of us. I instinctively shielded Rin and the newborn in a sea of red.

Rin inhaled shakily. "Mirai, what are you…?"

"Trust me."

She fell silent. I felt the kunai and shurikens impacting against the barrier. Their weapons fell harmlessly onto the ground. Some of them punched and hit. The barrier didn't give away.

I waited … counted … and it wasn't until I sensed another platoon of ANBU before I shifted the barrier. Exposing only me partially. Enough for me to glare through the crack to see who stood at the other end. "Hey, kid." Distinctly male, the voice was slightly muffled through the porcelain mask that hid his face. "Can you drop this and come out?"

"Give me a reason," I hissed defensively, rattled.

"The Hokage wants to speak with—"

The threads of red— _Okaa-sama's hair_ —exploded outwards, scattering the shinobi. "He's _dead_! _My father's dead! There's no Hokage!_ "

My eyes burned and seared in their sockets. The agony was nearly unbearable. I thought …

I had the naïve, fool's hope that things would be _different_. That, without Obito as Madara's pawn, the world would be right, my parents would be alive … what had happened to him?

(What went wrong?)

…

..

.

Somehow, I was led into the Hokage's office. My father's office. Except that the Third Hokage sat behind his desk. Blonde-haired, blue-eyed, my father's image superimposed over Sarutobi's. A snarl contorted my face. "Get _out_ of that seat!" I gasped through the agony squeezing my heart. "You don't—it's not—!"

Surprisingly, the Hokage obeyed me. He stood and made his way round the desk to reach me, where I sat on the visitor's chair, and he enveloped me into a hug.

I protested and squirmed. I hated being touched by someone not family, not someone I recognized or loved. My hand found his shoulder and I gave one hard shove, dislodging him from me. I stilled once I saw his face: Sarutobi Hiruzen's face was lined with age and grief. I belatedly realized that his wife had just died—Biwako assisted Rin with Naruto's birth and Obito had not spared anyone but the girl he loved.

I was not the only one who felt lost, and angry, and sad. That thought made me still and I let him hold me. Then he receded, but still close within my arm's length.

He was talking but his words didn't compute properly at first: "… collected your father's body but your mother's body perished, as have my wife's and their ANBU bodyguards."

"How—how could a body perish?" I scratched at my arms.

"Crushed beneath rubble," was his speedy reply. Evidently, he didn't want to linger on the topic of how his wife had died a gruesome death.

"Where's Naruto? And Rin?" I asked, once I recalled that, after the playground, my memory blanked out on me.

Brother.

I still had family. A tiny bundle of pink cheeks and blonde fuzz came to my mind's eye. Something in my heart unclenched a little.

"He's safe in the hospital, resting from a dreadful ordeal—he has been orphaned after all, and saddled with a burden no infant should have," Sarutobi's mutter was barely discernible.

"You mean he's the jinchūriki." His look of surprise made me snort over a bitter sob. "If my mother, the previous jinchūriki is dead, surely someone else must take her place. Who else but my brother and I have inherited the compatibility to host bijū?"

Sarutobi decided against arguing. "Yes." His dark eyes flitted to the frames hanging on the wall, depicting the previous Hokage. "You know, with you sitting before me, it's not hard to believe Minato isn't dead." He met my eyes. "A part of him still lives in you. I can see it in your eyes."

I wondered if he was actually seeing Minato or his own wayward student Orochimaru. Jiraiya always complained that my freaky eyes were like his old teammate's. I didn't have a recollection of Orochimaru. Apparently he took off when I was four or five, where my existence did not extend past my bedroom.

"Can we get to the point of this meeting?" I asked when the silence began to thicken.

Sarutobi's gaze was fixed very steadily on my visage, eyes hard. "Mirai-kun, you are well aware that the village knows of your existence as the Fourth Hokage's son?"

"So?"

"I'm afraid Naruto can't be publicly seen as your brother or the Hokage's son."

I stared at him; shock stole the wind out of my sails. "Why not?" I blurted out, balling my fists. "I get that my father has a lot of enemies but I've been publicized … and nothing has happened thus far." _As far as I know anyway._ There might've been attacks and kidnapping attempts but my parents would have no reason to alert me how close I'd cut it every time it happened. They did, however, constantly warn me to be alert and careful of strangers—the typical blah lecture about following people you didn't know.

"Don't you see? Your father's presence kept any potential kidnappers at bay. The news of your father's death will spread worldwide," Sarutobi's words etched sideways into my brain, "Your brother, as an infant, will be the most vulnerable when greedy, vengeful fools come for him. Once your father's countless enemies get a hold of him, he'd be killed or brainwashed—at his current age, he is most susceptible to it. You are beyond that age for it to work as well.

"Know this, Mirai, I intend to protect you in Minato's stead. I promised your father before he died that I would do my best to protect the both of you," Sarutobi interrupted. He fixed me with a stern look. "I doubt you know but there are people within this village with the intention of hurting _you_." He paused, hand drifting to rest on my shoulder, squeezing comfortably when I didn't immediately flinched away. "In fact, I believe this is the best possible solution. If they think—if _they_ believe you are too powerful to be touched, they wouldn't dare to risk triggering—"

"I don't—"

"Right now, the people who know of Naruto's survival are in this room, and Nohara Rin who is with your brother at the hospital—the others are dead," Sarutobi stated firmly. His eyes twitched with the long-forgotten urge to cry—his wife had been part of the latter classification. He held up a hand to demand my patience for I was itching to speak. "If Naruto were to remain anonymous, he would be safe. However, therein lays the problem…"

"What?"

"Let's lay down the basics: the Kyūbi has helped pivot the last Great War in our favor when your mother actively fought with it. As you can see, the bijū, if used properly, strengthens Konoha leaps and bounds. Your mother made us strong by hosting the bijū—even though we're not at war, _she_ was what kept our enemies at bay with the potential to rain hell on earth on villages that would attack us. Knowing someone _might_ do something bad is sometimes more terrifying than knowing if that person can do it or not.

We need the other rivaling villages to know that we are _not_ weakened by this attack, they need to know that the bijū is still a viable weapon of war, ready to grind them to dust if they try anything funny against Konoha; we must not present them an opportunity to reignite the flames of war."

I pinched the bridge of my nose. I suddenly felt my age—somewhere in my twenties if I added both lives under my belt—which was something I hadn't felt in a long, long time. I was content to let Minato and Kushina take care of me despite the bouts of independence I showed. At first, I was worried my brain couldn't keep up with Sarutobi's logic but it was actually very simple.

"You intend to keep Naruto's existence under wraps for his own safety," I droned, trying to see the point of this conversation, "yet you intend to make it clear to the world that the jinchūriki of the Kyūbi is alive and powerful, and you somehow want to make me _so_ terrifying that people would think twice about messing with me…"

My voice died. I stared at him. Stunned into silence, the ringing emptiness reigned the office.

"You don't mean—"

"It's no easy decision to make. I'll let you think about it."

I stared at him, eyes hard. "If I said no?"

Sarutobi didn't say anything out loud, he didn't need to. There were other ways of getting cold, hard facts out. His eyes said: _You don't have a choice._ The expression he arranged his face to show said: _Does your brother matter so little to you?_

I ran out of the office, the picture of my father smiling down at me as I went.

 **~{VI}~**

Naruto was in the infant's ward. Rin brought me to him.

"Nobody saw you bring him here?" I wondered cautiously. Pressed my face to the glass, scouring.

"I told them I found him in a collapsed house," said Rin. "He won't be the only one…" She tailed off. The room through the glass was overcrowded, full of infants. Not all of them were sleeping peacefully. Surprisingly, the sleeping ones weren't disturbed by their fellow babies' screeching and fussing.

We were the only ones in the hallway.

Relatives had yet to arrive to see if their brother or sister's infant had miraculously wound up here or they had perished with their families. Most others were overcrowding the ground floor, the number of injured patients flowing into the front yard where tents had been erected.

"Did Sarutobi tell you? About the offer?"

Rin hesitated. "Only the bare details," she admitted finally.

I turned back to the glass where I could see Naruto's chubby fists, his whiskered cheeks, and—despite everything that had happened—my heart warmed. I'd never been the type to be moved by cute things but this sight made my heart migrate to the right side of my chest.

The thought of anyone treating him with disdain, at such a young age, orphaned—hurt.

Rin was solemn when she spoke up again. "I can see the merits, but—it's _unfair_ …to you. This burden." She shook her head. "Minato-sensei wouldn't have wanted either of you to shoulder it. Even if he believes you can do it."

"Okaa-sama told me that, before you seal a bijū inside a person, you have to fill the vessel up with love first," I said, knocking on the glass. The five fingers on Naruto's left fist twitched closer to his cheek. My heart melted like ice-cream at that gesture. "Because only love can drive out hate."

Rin was quiet.

"What do you think I should do, Rin?"

She cast her gaze down at me, her eyes very sad. "I think … the truth will out in the end. But at the moment, we're too weak for the truth. We didn't just lose our Hokage today, our forces have also been depleted drastically. We need more time to get back to our feet: the other shinobi villages won't allow that, naturally, that's why … I think someone needs to buy us time."

She means _I_ have to buy us time. I'd to keep up the charade long enough until Naruto was ready and mature enough to be told the truth. Maybe ten to thirteen years. It wasn't a significantly short amount of time.

If I was somehow targeted, assassinated in the real jinchūriki's spot for petty reasons such as hatred or in a ploy to weaken Konoha permanently, in that amount of time, people would live under the illusion the Kyūbi was dead when, in truth, the real jinchūriki was safe, thriving and growing stronger, on the way to becoming Konoha's most powerful weapon.

The jinchūriki will grow up in a loved, friendly environment, completely devoted to the village with no reason to be disloyal to it; the perfectly willing scapegoat will bear the full brunt of the hatred and if he somehow defected or wound up dead, no losses there, the Kyūbi was still in Konoha's grasp. And by the time something like that happened, Konoha would've been back on its feet. We weren't reputed to be the strongest shinobi village for nothing.

I figured the only reason Sarutobi hadn't pull off the same thing in canon was because he wouldn't be able to find a kid to go along with it and he just had to cross his fingers and hope for the best—or let Danzō arrange something dodgy in the shadows—and keep feeding Naruto the Will of Fire crap and play on the boy's foolish idiocy and spur his dearest wish to be acknowledged.

(Why would anyone, if not the real jinchūriki's elder brother, be willing to bear hatred from all ends for its sake?)

Rin knelt, then, before me and took my hands. "Whatever you choose to do, I'll be looking after you."

"It's only a matter of time, right?" A temporary measure. Time was something I could buy for them.

…

* * *

 _The night the Kyūbi attacked, the Fourth Hokage gave his life to protect the village. To halt the Kyūbi from wrecking further havoc, he sealed the demon into his own son and died with the wish of his son being seen as a hero._

 _Few honored his wish._

 _Pity._

* * *

 **Revised:** 4.6.2017


	7. Faker

**_-BAD APPLE-_**

 **7\. [Revised]**

Leaves of burnt brown, amber and red fluttered to the ground in downpours by the time the Academy reopened. Some leaves were so red my threads could've blended in. Red like fresh, oxygenated blood.

In the morning as I walked to school alone, I caught snatches of noise from the world I was growing increasingly detached to: a shrill cry quickly muffled by a palm, murmurs followed me like flies buzzing in my ears. I stopped. Glanced back at the source of the closest noise and the woman behind the stall—the lady who used to smile and offer me extra sticks of dango to share with Itachi—flinched away. She didn't meet my eyes, her shoulders trembled.

The sight of her emphasized the emptiness in my pockets (no parents to give pocket money to me) and the blank space beside me (no Itachi to share dango with as a pre-school snack).

Itachi's absence was explainable and perhaps not permanent.

The Uchiha clan was being relocated. As part of the clan, naturally, he had to do his part and pitch in to help with the moving. Plus, there was baby Sasuke to take care of when Mikoto would be undoubtedly busy about other political matter within the clan. The clan head's wife must play her part, she was the matriarch of the clan after all. Her role as my godmother was not as urgent.

It had me wondering … mulling … thinking about my nonexistent future …

I roughly knew the intended future of everyone—it meant that they, at least, have a future to maybe walk onto. I had nothing; no map, no instruction, no hint.

In stories, the one with the knowledge should've made things happier, better for the people around them.

Did I?

My mere presence caused fear and misery to shift among the villagers.

(This was not making things better; having thousands of people fearing you, hating you, a living reminder of what they had lost)

How could Naruto be happier when he had not known anything lesser?

I swallowed the bitterness of my thoughts and shouldered on to the Academy.

Naturally, I did not receive a warm welcome. The class was half-empty, not everyone had been fit to come back—maybe their grieving period wasn't over yet or their spirits were too crushed for them to face daily life just yet.I doubted any of them died, sadly; maybe some of their shinobi relatives but certainly not them. Funeno-sensei had dumped us to get them up into the shelters quickly enough.

And we all know how my father died to save them.

I resumed my usual seat by the window, distinctly aware of how everyone cropped up in the front and left me alone. Usually at least a dozen of them called out a greeting to the Hokage's son; today, the air was charged with fear. Apprehension was thick in the air, so thick I doubted any of my classmates would be able to cross through.

But someone did. I was surprised she even dared to approach me.

There had been all sorts of rumors flying around about me: how I ate kids for breakfast, how many people I'd butchered and who I was planning on killing next, etcetera. There was also one where I disemboweled puppies as a pastime—these idiots have colorful imagination—so imagine my surprise when _Inuzuka Hana_ approached me.

Her face was set in that stubborn way of hers that was both amusing and annoying. My heart ached when I saw her. Before you launch into any assumptions, I was just feeling pained at the thought that my mother would no longer tease me about the animosity between me and Hana. Neither of my parents would see their grandchildren in life; how sad. My eyes burned in their sockets with the urge to cry but _people were watching_.

"What do you want?" I grumbled when she opened her mouth but did not speak immediately. Either she was trying to catch flies or she'd lost her courage to speak to the ' _demon'_ midway.

A dull flush crept across her cheeks as her eyes snapped into an imposing glare. "I just … You saved Ma-kun." Her voice was barely above a mumble. "Thanks," she grouched, flicking a forelock behind her ear. "Unless you saved him only to cook him in a stewpot later?" She continued suspiciously.

I rolled my eyes—evidently I'd underestimated her intelligence—as I gestured towards the aisle. "Take a hike, Inuzuka."

Hana glared at me. "You're such a jerk!" Then she flounced away even though all I had done so far was play nice. She hadn't seen me at my most vindictive or she would've run home in tears, never to return to my sight.

Still, her consistent treatment towards me was a reprieve from the rest. Her childish dislike of boys—stemmed from the abandonment of her father who'd hightailed it out of the Land of Fire by now—was a welcome in comparison to their fear.

Hidden behind my palm, I smiled.

At least they left me alone instead of opting to bully me … if they did, hell, their parents might be grieving over newly erected graves.

Thinking of parents and graves led me to the dark lane of thoughts where my parents were dead. Such a brutal word. I frowned as the tugging in the back of my mind surfaced again. I didn't know what caused it but it made me scratch the back of my head.

My scalp tingled—my spiritual energy was restless as it sizzled in the air, unseen by the naked eye, twinning with my classmates' thoughts out of random. Heaps of fear, terror and hatred crushed my head and I severed the connection before I was infected.

I hated lectures in classes. Inactivity made my limbs quiver even more. My eyes listlessly fell onto the empty seat beside me and the empty rows stretching to my right: Itachi was not here. I suppose I better pay attention since he wouldn't be here taking notes for both of us to pore over later, when I had more of an attention span.

…

School was the only aspect of my life that hadn't changed. Attending classes—same teacher, same children—was consistent.

But home was gone, evaporated into thin air as surely as Obito had been consumed by the dark, how my mother's body had vanished, and my father was deader than a doornail.

Only Rin remained.

Beautiful when she was done up in her kindness; she was the only proof I have of inner and natural beauty. The rest were artificial monstrosity. I could see why Obito loved her; her kindness, her gentle smile. They warmed you to the core.

That she was now the homemaker of the huge, empty house marked with solid memories of Kushina and Minato—it was almost bearable to think of that mirthless place as home.

But of course, by the time I was out of school, she'd be at the hospital, working her shift. Or she'd inevitably be sent on a mission as the combat medic of the team. And I'd be alone.

Alone was bad enough. Now I had nothing.

…

The quiet pulse of my steady heart kept me company in the silence of the apartment.

…

Then—a knock broke through my ennui.

The spiritual energy was familiar. "Itachi?" I croaked. Red threads wove through air, curling around the doorknob and turning it. Itachi's doe-like eyes, set into a porcelain-pale face, grim and young, appeared when the door opened.

He entered without prompting, closing the door behind him, unperturbed by the red threads that twisted in the empty space.

"Mirai." My name, spoken without heat but a mild sort of pity and sadness, was enough to assuage some of my fears. He was a solid presence, unchanged. He approached me without apprehension or fear, coming to crouch beside where I was—slumped against the couch, not even bothering to climb up or head to the kitchen and fix myself lunch when my stomach called for it.

Completely out of the blue, his arms wound around me—a protective embrace from the harsh world out there. I was shocked. Itachi wasn't one for physical display of affections. Usually, Kushina would squeeze us together into a hug and I did it to see him squirm and annoy him (even as a child, he was difficult to ruffle). I didn't know why it touched me more than Rin's hugs did. Maybe because I knew Rin hugged me only because she was desperately imagining Obito, Minato, Kakashi and Kushina in place. And Itachi hugged me only to comfort me, only with my well-being in mind.

"I'm sorry for everything that's happened, Mirai." Arms tightened around me. "Your parents and your stillborn brother…" That was the cover story, right, I tried to recall.

"All for nothing," I coughed out.

"Do you need anything?" he asked softly.

(A horrid nightmare. The nightmare of Rin dying in canon, of Kakashi shoving a Chidori through her chest, of Obito's death. Kushina was there; she wiped my tears, smiled, and assured me everything would be okay over a mug of hot chocolate.)

Itachi made it for me.

It tasted too salty.

Less to do with the lack of sugar than how I my eyes kept leaking of their own accord. My brain didn't have the heart to stop the tears. Every inch of my body knew I needed to shed as much grief as possible, that I needed every outlet I could get.

…

"Will you be going back to school anytime soon?"

Itachi drew a listless pattern on the tea table. His hand paused. My eyes, fixed on his hand, stopped too. I didn't look at his face; I didn't want him to see my bloodshot eyes and miserable face. "In a month or two," he finally answered. "My father wishes me to finish the Academy within this year. He claims my skills are better off put to use."

"Intensive training?"

"Basically."

That meant our time together would be even more limited. How many more times could he sneak off and come here, to me?

"Okaa-sama turned a blind eye when she caught me sneaking out," said Itachi casually, picking up on my thoughts. I blinked in surprise at the mention of my godmother. "She sends her condolences and … and she asks if you'll be at the funeral service this Saturday."

I couldn't suppress the bitter snort. "They wouldn't let me besmirch the sacred place. And I wouldn't want to go either."

"Not even to pay respects to your parents?"

"Memories of them are here, Itachi." I gestured to my apartment. To the empty space bar for me and Itachi. I tried to look like I believed marks of Kushina and Minato could still be seen. "A cold slab of rock doesn't remind me of them. I don't get why they have to be buried, why not cremated? Uchiha are cremated upon death, aren't they? That's a better option."

"Or self-immolation," added Itachi.

"That's not important—they still get to spiral into the sky, right?"

"I'm sure it was important to the Uchiha who were forced to self-immolate," said Itachi solemnly.

My mouth twitched against the rim of my mug; I nearly smiled. Nestled together at the foot of the couch, shins propped against the tea table, in the waning light of the setting sun—I hadn't known peace like this since my parents died and Obito vanished.

Obito.

"What action did your clan take?" I asked abruptly. "Rin told me they're being relocated because they've been suspected of unleashing the Kyūbi on the village. Never mind that Obito was the one who did it. _Against_ his will." But I did wonder how many people believe that Obito was possessed by black goo. Or as I suspect, Black Zetsu. I was disturbed to realize I'd forgotten he had such an ability.

"The village isn't taking the chance," said Itachi quietly. The troubled sort of quiet. "We're being watched. But I believe in Obito's innocence. The Obito-san I knew would never betray the clan, Konoha and the people he loves."

Silence. I could not find anything to say to that. Whichever way you look at it, Obito and I were both in muck-deep shit. Albeit in different muddy pools. I just wished I knew which pool he was in so we could, at the very least, be together.

I changed the subject. "I suppose you don't need the handouts from today…?"

"I'll take it," he said.

I stood—because even I couldn't direct Hikenshi without sight—and shuffled to my room. Itachi didn't follow, he seemed to know I needed a bit of space. Talking about Obito wasn't easy. Rin hadn't brought him up even though I could feel her emotional turmoil and hear her tears.

I was in my room before I recalled that I hadn't even brought my bag up here. It was in the living room. Beside Itachi. Damn it.

What's wrong with me? Why am I so out of it?

I sat heavily on my bed, wrenching at my hair. Scalp aching, eyes burning, skin tingling with the expectation of a concerned parent's touch. Their visages bloomed like flowers, splashed in colors and awash with life behind my closed lids. So vivid, so real—

I choked, wheezing on my shock. Because there, right in front of me—my parents. Before I could scramble away or scream, they had reached me and their arms enveloped me. There was no light, no groundbreaking changing scenery. It was still my bedroom; the place I hated and loved the most, the place where I spent much of my childhood bedridden and where my parents were by my side.

They were here. Still here. It was not a figment of my desperation, it was—

Nothing.

I could see their arms, their faces, their bodies as they hugged me. A tangle of family and love. But, it was all wrong. There was no weight on my shoulders, their embrace was not warm. I could not inhale the familiar scent of _home_ on their skin.

So … what was … in front of me?

I reached for them. Fast and lunging, but they eluded me. I tumbled through them. Off the bed. Crashing onto the ground was a painful thing to experience; it jarred me awake. I twisted around on the floor, chest thudding, only to see them flicker minutely.

Not possible, but oh so real—a figment of my imagination. Given nearly colored form through the energy that governed imagination. Spiritual energy had carved perfect replicas of my parents for me.

My father's mirage reached for me. His hand touched my cheek but there was no warmth, no reality. Without physical energy, something created from spiritual energy could not interact with anything solid. He smiled sadly at me, as if to confirm _yes, whatever you dream up, nothing will compare to the real deal._

My mother's mouth moved but I couldn't decipher what she was saying. Her face looked pained.

"Mirai?"

The replicas faded, spiritual energy seeping into my skin and body once more, humming in my chakra pathways. I didn't turn around.

Itachi came up to me and crouched to my height. His eyes flickered to the spot where the mirages had disappeared. He was unnerved by the sight of the fakes, even though they couldn't harm anyone. He didn't ask how I made them. He just said, "They're not real."

I looked at him. "I know," I said simply.

 **~{VII}~**

November: snowflakes drifted down, intervals similar to the pause for each tear your eyes could shed. Fresh snow caked the sidewalks and coated the rooftops of the buildings in Konoha.

The winter was freezing enough without icicles of hate jabbing at my sides. I know I could've easily avoided this as much as possible. I still attended the Academy and I needed to take this route—the quickest one to my destination—but in the afternoons, I holed myself up in my house's basement—a wooden infrastructure on the outside holding up the main living area up—where my parents had installed a training ground of their own.

I wasn't masochistic enough to venture out for more hate.

Already, a large part of me wanted to spin on my heel and fly back to my home and avoid this for much longer. Until tomorrow where I had to go to school.

But the thought of Rin—tired but determined—at home had me moving. It had been a tiring day at the hospital. A failed operation. She was clearly beating herself up about it. Why shinobi were so quick to blame themselves baffled me. If it were me, I'd shelve all the blame on someone else and pretend I was never there in the first place.

So I chivalrously volunteered to cook for her—Kushina had taught me and prior to this life, I had done my fair share of work in the care home as one of the more capable kids—but found that our fridge lacked groceries for a fulfilling dish.

No one approached me in the streets, something I didn't mind.

What I was pissed about was being denied entry to the market. " _What_?" I hissed at the hastily flipped sign—from OPEN to CLOSE—and locked doors. Through the glass doors, I could clearly see villagers still inspecting their grocery lists, chattering amiably, and shopping.

The man on the other end—a foolish civilian—glared frostily at me. But there was a set to his jaw, the quiver in his shoulders that disheartened me. He was afraid of me but he desperately wanted me to get lost too, he didn't want to bow down to his fear of me, of the Kyūbi.

Such treatment, while hurtful, I didn't mind at first. It was a mere annoyance, being denied entry to pretty much every store and restaurant in Konoha. And how they weren't going to let fear bring them to their knees was something to be respected.

I think I wandered for two _hours_ before I decided to give up. I headed home, cold, tired and hungry. Utterly miserable too. I must say some part of me—self-esteem, pride, ego?—took a huge blow that didn't heal.

The second and third day passed without fuss. But I would have to be blind to not notice: the petrified fear that my presence inspired had dwindled. Their hatred was still tangible; it turned their eyes cold and their shoulders shifted away from me, not acknowledging me.

On the fourth day, I noticed something else: defiance and restlessness. They were tired of being oppressed by a phantom fear. Word must've spread that the "demon" was submissive in its weakened form. You could slam a door shut in its face and it couldn't even retaliate.

 _We should stamp it out when we have the chance_ , were the thoughts I reaped from the villagers every morning I passed them.

I was scared and a bit worried—just a bit, mind. However, my jumpy nerves only made for a clumsy disposition; I tripped and fell, getting a face full of snow. I grimaced, nose stinging, as I pushed myself up. Tried to anyway. My knees hadn't even straightened when a foot nearly snapped my spine in half.

I crashed back into the snow and I laid there for awhile, stunned by the shock of the cold and abrupt attack; pain was numbed by the softened blow. Only the red threads wrapped around my torso shielded me from any broken bones. Heart thudding, I scrambled away, kicking up snow.

I turned, bewildered that anyone would kick a fallen child instead of offering a helping hand, and saw hateful eyes. Comprehension clicked into place: they did not see a child, they saw only the embodiment of what they'd lost, the demon that had caused all this grief, a demon that might unleash the same chaos and terror upon them again. A demon weakened.

They attacked. I couldn't discern which were the shinobi, what their ranks were, if there were even civilians: their hatred coalesced into one unit of driving intent to hurt, maim and kill me.

I ran, pumping my legs to scramble through the snow.

I didn't get far before I came to one bitter conclusion: they were faster, older and stronger. They caught up.

I didn't think I'd ever been this fucking scared before, not even in my first life. I barely felt the winter cold in the face of cold fear that fastened on my bones, nearly locking my limbs in place. Cornered, completely and utterly cornered like a damned rat, I could only retaliate in defense.

(How could they be so brazen? Had this happened to Naruto in canon? Or had the years before he was reintroduced to the world eased some of the bitter pain, to forestall such aggressiveness?)

The writhing red threads lashed out, seizing them to halt their approach. Hikenshi was different from the spiritual images I created for one crucial component set them apart—physical energy.

The red threads thickened in dozens, becoming red braids that strangled and withheld them. More shinobi surged to the chaos, trying to subdue the 'demon' that never really was, maybe some even trying to help me, to respect the Hokage's wishes. My ears rang with their frenzied shouts.

A shinobi broke through the sea of red, his eyes crazed with violence and murder (of loss, his wife, child, brother had been lost that night). His punch crushed my ribcage—my fragile body couldn't take such heavy hits—with a single, chakra-enforced punch.

Hikenshi wound around my torso, a red dome of protectiveness, but the red threads barely deterred him. He seized my skull and slammed me into the ground. Galaxies could've exploded in my ears and I wouldn't have heard it through the pain wracking my body as my barrier faltered.

My body instinctively tried to curl into itself but the shinobi was vicious. His kick sent me careening through glass doors of a store; screams of surprise rippled in the air, adding more to the cacophony of red violence. Shards of glass cut into my face. Through a red haze of pain, I saw a kunai.

What saved my life was a freaking puppy's bark.

(And the back of a girl, arms thrust to her sides defensively, her chocolate-colored hair tossed in that stubborn way of hers)

Hana's puppy. The one I'd saved the day Kyūbi attacked. And Hana herself, repaying the time I'd rescued Ma, the puppy.

...

Their interference gave me the space to breathe, for my brain to stop knocking into my skull. I did not feel pathetically grateful, I was pissed.

Hana was yelling something, and over the shoulder of my assailant, I saw uchiwa-symbols sewn into the back of the shirts of the men forcing the others back. One of them turned, eyes widening, and started toward us.

He was shouting too: "Get away from him—right now!"

Hana half-turned, gasped. The shinobi she was facing had been hauled away by the Uchiha, and another Uchiha of the Konoha Military Police Force seized and pulled Hana away, her puppy tripping after her. It took me an embarrassingly long second to realize they were retreating from me.

My skin had tightened with goose bumps. I stood shakily, belatedly aware the pain in my side and the back of my head had faded. I looked down to assess the damage. Saw red, translucent chakra bubbling like foam. In the reflection of the kunai the shinobi had dropped, the pupils of my eyes were as pronounced as ever, irises crimson. I held up my hands, unfurling my fingers: my skin scalded and melted and regenerated in the noxious chakra, in seconds.

For what felt like an eternity, we stood and stared at one another, stunned, and maybe too scared to do anything else.

Hana's puppy yipped.

At what was possibly the most nonthreatening sound ever, my canines receded into my throbbing gums, my claws shrinking into humanoid fingernails. I blinked and nearly fell over when the chakra shroud dispersed in a gust of wind, taking with it the boost of energy; the two Uchiha and Hana backed hastily out of the alley.

I regained my voice last.

"That—that was the dumbest thing you could do, throwing yourself in front of the kunai!" I yelled. I balled my fists. I would've felt worse if she had been hurt.

"B-Baka! I didn't do that for you, it's just Ma-kun suddenly ran off and he could've gotten hurt by that lunatic!"

"And is he?" I looked at the puppy. He was trying to get cozy with my ankle. I let him, befuddled by his behavior.

"No," Hana huffed, crossing her arms. The two Uchiha had left her side to reestablish order outside the alley. It won't be long before the ANBU came and escorted me to the Hokage's office. "Whataboutyou," she got out in a gush, cheeks tinting pink.

"I'm fine." And, after a long, narrow-eyed pause, I added: "Thanks, that was—" Brave. Stupid. Touching. "Very appreciated."

Whatever clever riposte she had was lost by the arrival of the ANBU, dried leaves falling.

I shouldered past Hana, stumbling. She was breathing hard. I teetered on the verge of speech, but the words tipped back into my throat, and I hurried past her.

 **~{VII}~**

The Sandaime wasn't in battle-mode but his shoulders didn't relax until he assessed me with his own two eyes and relaxed. He signaled everyone else out of the room. I saw my father's bodyguards, now back under the Sandaime's service: Tatami Iwashi, Shiranui Genma and Namiashi Raidō. They filed past me without meeting my eyes.

"That's everyone gone," said Sarutobi. "Now, tell me everything."

I slumped in the chair and gave the abbreviated version. _Went shopping for groceries, tripped, was attacked by a vigilante, an avenger._

"The perpetrator has apprehended," Sarutobi assured me levelly. He waited patiently. I didn't say anything. "A few of my men reported something strange," he offered suggestively.

I rubbed my palm over my face. "You mean the chakra that I released? It wasn't consciously. I wasn't even tapping into my chakra reserves, it just —" I clutched thin air for words.

"It was diluted, but unmistakably, as I was told, the Kyūbi's chakra. In the time it took you to get here, I've no less than a dozen men exploding through the windows demanding if the seal is inadequate."

"After my father gave his life for that seal, they dare to doubt him?" I seethed.

Sarutobi didn't look happy either. "I've only heard of your condition, never seen it myself in person."

"My condition?"

"The Shodaime's wife, Uzumaki Mito, was the first jinchūriki. One of the three children she had after the sealing inherited the Kyūbi's chakra. The Nidaime called him a pseudo-jinchūriki. He has the chakra but not the beast itself." Sarutobi puffed on his pipe.

"So all children of jinchūriki are pseudo-jinchūriki of the beast?" I asked.

"Most probably only if the jinchūriki is female. An infant's chakra coils is branched off the mother's."

"Because the mother has the bijū's chakra in her chakra coils for one reason or the other, whether the seal allows a leakage of it into the vessel or she recently drew its chakra on?"

Sarutobi nodded. "And if not during the pregnancy, then at the time of birth, when the seal is at its weakest and the bijū's chakra isn't just leaking, but _pouring_ out."

Kinda like HIV. Jeez. Come of think of it, Kushina _did_ breastfed me. Not long after the birth, she must've done it, when Kurama's chakra wasn't entirely out of her system yet. I'm starting to feel diseased.

"This is beneficial to both of us," said Sarutobi. "Don't you agree? Just—try to keep that from happening in the middle of the village. My windows are all broken."

"Oh." That explained why it was so windy. Sarutobi looked more exasperated than angry though. "Right. Provided they don't attack me."

"Deal. I'll send a word to Fugaku-san to heighten patrols in the areas you frequent. Try not to stray too far from sight of the Konoha Military Police Force." Sarutobi checked the clock on his desk. "For now, I'll have Shiranui Genma escort you home. It's late, and Nohara-san must be worried."

I cringed—both at the mention of Shiranui Genma's name and Rin's undoubtedly horrified reaction to the evening's events.

"Mirai-kun?"

"I'm leaving," I sighed, "Bye, Sarutobi." I dragged my sorry ass out of his office and was met with the sore sight of Shiranui Genma, Rin's maybe boyfriend. My mood worsened further.

After all that fuss, I still hadn't bought groceries.

 **~{VII}~**

* * *

 **Note:** Mirai is a pseudo-jinchūriki who inherited Kurama's chakra from his mother in all three ways above. Mirai cannot consciously tap into the beast's residual chakra in him; it is triggered by and corresponds to his hatred. The initial jinchūriki form seen in this chapter is the mildest level.


	8. Restricted

**_-BAD APPLE-_**

 **8\. Restricted  
**

"Mirai," Rin was sighing for the umpteenth time since we'd arrived, "Why did you pick to go to the Forest of Death instead of … you know?"

I did know. She was wondering why I was refusing to visit my brother. The infant no doubt was raising a riot in the orphanage he'd been landed in. But there would be no hate or fear directed at him. My lips twisted sardonically as I thought about the charisma so highlighted in the anime and how everyone was simply drawn to his light, his radiance.

Without a doubt, he would be winning the matrons of the orphanage over, as he had no stigma of the Kyūbi to drag him down.

Crack!

"Rin, did you hear something?" I asked curiously, stilling, gauging my surrounding. The Forest of Death was mockingly beautiful in winter. For such a harsh weather, it was the most beautiful. This forest was wreathed in a cloak of snow too and snowflakes continued drifting down in this part of the forest.

"What are you looking for?" asked Rin, dark eyes wary as she studied the area. She'd been here for her Chūnin Exams before, as she'd told me, and she had no good things to say about this place.

"It's an experiment," I answered vaguely.

"Experiment on how to get maimed by the beasts in this forest?" She arched a skeptical brow.

I smiled easily at her, adjusting my scarf that trapped the wispy breaths I exhaled. "I came here for a, let's say, battery."

Rin couldn't completely hide how her interest was piqued. She pursed her lips. "Oh?" she prompted as we edged closer to the cave I'd honed in on. Animals had spiritual energies too but their emotions and thought process were too different from humans for me to connect with them. Worse, I might start acting like an animal.

"I had an idea that is still on unsteady groundwork."

"Care to explain?"

I considered it. Shinobi generally didn't share the secrets of their trade unless to really trusted companions or apprentices; I trusted Rin. I nodded to let her know I was going to talk. I crouched low in the white-covered bushes, eyes trained on the gaping cave, as I spoke.

"I found that I could create something out of nothing—but these … spiritual-made stuff aren't tangible because they have no physical energy. I came here searching for a battery—"

Rin's eyes lit up, as they always did whenever she made a breakthrough. "You intend to wire a beast's physical energy to this spiritual-made stuff," she realized. Her brows were furrowed thoughtfully. "How do you intend to do that? Fūinjutsu?" She voiced doubtfully—she knew full well I couldn't do fūinjutsu at all.

I examined the kunai I'd brought from home. Heavier than the standard-sized kunai; my father's favored three-pronged kunai.

(I'd gotten used to the ache that accompanied the mention, memories of my parents. I did not react)

"If I scream, come save me?" I asked instead of replying.

Rin's mouth twisted into a reluctant smile. "Shouldn't it be the other way? The hero who saves the damsel in distress?"

"I'll feel safer if Rin is watching over me."

Her eyes were suddenly too bright at the all too familiar words. She nodded mutely. I left my hiding spot behind the bushes, giving her the privacy to wipe the wetness away from her eyes.

The breath of the beast residing within was warm, nearly breaching the cold caked beneath my winter jacket already. My eyes took a moment to adjust: I made out a double-decker bus-sized beast of a wolverine's shape. I licked my cracked lips—a sign of nerves.

Was it hibernating?

Nevertheless, my workload had lessened.

…

I hadn't told Rin the whole truth.

Specifically, I did not tell her _how_ I was planning on harvesting a battery fresh out of the woods. Frankly, this was a half-assed plan too. Best case scenario: I was maimed but I got to finish my plan. Worst case scenario: well, Rin should be able to sew bits and pieces of me together back again.

My plan?

Will materialization.

(My fingers curled into the seal of a half-ram)

Visualize it, Mirai.

…

The beast's breath quickened but I remained undeterred, eyes closed, concentrating on the image I'd painted in the canvas of my mind. Bend and break, break and bend. A shuddery gasp; a half-roar. Chakra surged to my temples. My head throbbed.

But I could feel it.

Spiritual energy that I was so sensitive and attuned to whip in the air, bearing down like chains on the beast, squeezing and suffocating, morphing it into the form I visualized.

My will, my mind.

My spiritual energy—my will—slipped into its mind, ensnaring its spiritual energy and _oh_. It was so different from a human's. I could not begin to understand what it was feeling but I did not care.

This was not about mutual understanding.

This was about dominance and subservience.

I forced upon it my feelings: the pent-up anger and grief that would never be properly expelled. Human emotions that beasts didn't understand. The superiority, the complexity dumbfounded it. I unintentionally shifted and though my feet were tucked beneath me as I knelt, something crunched like glass into miniscule shards.

My scalp felt hypersensitive, chakra pooling too much up in the head and being expelled. It was like having an extra set of fingers wielding scalpels—that was how my spiritual energy felt like as it scythed through the beast's mind, destroying any sense of willpower and free-thinking, turning it into a thing that wouldn't even drool without my permission,

I'd subjugated it.

…

I opened my eyes and it was … it was almost horrible to see. The sheer resemblance to Kakashi was bound to make Rin scream questions at me. Spikes of silver hair, droopy black eyes, slightly sallow skin. Black substance coated this … Kakashi's doppelganger's body …

"Mirai!" Rin's voice made me froze. "Are you okay in there?" The distance of her voice did not close. I relaxed slightly.

"I'm fine. Give me a sec—I'm almost done here!" I hollered back even as my fingers made no move to quicken. I touched the creature's shoulders; it did not move in response. Black, sticky substance clung onto my fingertips even after I'd moved away. Swallowing thickly, I quickly wiped them off on my jacket.

Shadows lapping in the back of his cave made it hard to tell at first but the rest of his body was covered in the same substance. I wasn't sure what to make of it.

The thrill of success kept my excitement bubbling and frothing at the brim. There was so much I could try—!

But first, its face. I snapped my fingers and the black coating stretched from its neck to its nose, masking it. it took me by surprise. It really responded as I willed it to? It had been theoretical so far. This 'will materialization to make pawns' thing. I'd been fascinated by how Kaguya had done it, creating a sentient creature like Black Zetsu, and I still had a hard time imagining this creature was of the same species as Black Zetsu.

It reeked of my spiritual energy, which meant to chakra-sensors, this thing will feel like me too.

I eyed it up and down again, wondering how high its intelligence was, how sentient it was. While it serve some form of vindictive pleasure to see Kakashi's doppelganger acting idiotically, a huge part of it was wrong. Kakashi wasn't supposed to be weak, just as he wasn't supposed to be dead.

But he's deader than a doornail, isn't he?

 _No_ , another part of me said, gazing into the creature's eyes, _He's here—_

("Mirai, you do know they're not real, right?")

…

I exhaled slightly through my nose. The thought of a porcelain mask and a trench coat barely surfaced before the doppelganger was clad in them; a more appropriate attire as the black substance was form-fitting.

I retreated a few steps. Hesitantly, I held out a hand. Black, black eyes blinked from behind the slits of the mask that served as eye-holes. A hand covered in black, larger than mine, flattened against my own.

Solid substance.

In the space between my ears, Itachi's voice kept saying that it wasn't real.

I tried for a smile.

"Let's go show you off to Rin, okay?"

 **~{VIII}~**

"He doesn't need to eat?"

"Certainly," I assured Rin. Her warm brown eyes lingered on the creature—an extension of my will, materialized through the forced subjugation of a physical living being—as she fixed me a plate of breakfast. Japanese breakfast meant no toast or sausages; there was rice and a variety of dishes instead.

"And you think he'll help you ace your graduation test in a week's time?"

A week. That reminds me … my birthday. December 24th. The graduation exam fell two days after. Unlike Itachi, I didn't have any tutors. I only had Rin to rely on to skim through six years of curriculum in the span of two months.

By hook or by crook, I was going to graduate.

Not only did going to school slow my progress, it hindered the time Itachi and I could spend together. I want us to train together. And we might be able to go on missions together! Hopeful thinking, I know, but I couldn't help it.

"Yes. It's my jutsu, perfectly within bounds," I finally said. In actuality, I might need to consult the Hokage for this.

"What _can_ he do exactly?" Rin pressed as she set her own plate down and resumed her seat across from me. She was still staring at the black-clad creature.

"I haven't really tested. It was real late when we got home last night," I answered honestly, swiping a tempura onto my plate without lifting a hand. Rin was ogling the red threads maneuvering the chopsticks now.

"Mirai, at this rate, you'll be getting a potbelly."

I blushed. "What?" I asked incredulously, hand instinctively flying to my stomach. Perfectly flat stomach, mind you. I might even get six-packs someday. Now, while that would be unappealing to girls, I had grown somewhat used to this body's attractiveness, and I know I'd look good when I grow up someday. I appreciated beauty. My ire of this body had abated slightly.

"You don't do _anything_ ," Rin pointed out, smiling, obviously amused by my embarrassment and self-consciousness. "Whenever you need something, your threads will pick it up for you. And now that you have him," she gestured to the former beast, "you'll have him run errands, do house chores and fight for you? That's…" She blinked, as if she'd just realized something. "That's almost like Sunagakure's puppeteering! But without the chakra strings and … and it's more advanced—" She shook her head in mild disbelief. "How did you come up with this?"

By watching the anime and reading the manga of what the Rabbit Goddess could do. I was merely emulating her.

"I thought it up," I replied noncommittally. Rin frowned. She knew I was withholding information and it bugged her. I picked at my food. "Spiritual energy," I finally mumbled, caving under her hard gaze, "My Yin chakra is in large amounts so I can easily visualize something. Stuff that you can't touch or interact with so it's useless without a proverbial battery."

"How much chakra does this 'battery' consumes?" she queried.

"None." Rin's brows shot up in surprise. I nodded. "I know, I felt the same as you did now. I had him activated for one whole night and I didn't even feel drained."

"It practically radiates your chakra!" said Rin, astonished. "Shouldn't it at least be siphoning—?" Her gaze, her breathlessness stroked my ego like one would tickle a housecat; she was filled with amazement. Undeniable amazement at my genius.

I threw the quiet creature a sideway glance. He had not move or spoken a single word. Though I willed him to say simple things, he remained silent. Perhaps it had retained traits of its beastly form: animals didn't speak human tongue so he couldn't do it either.

"I'm taking a day off from the Academy today," I informed Rin. "Can you please write me a pass? I need to experiment with this …"

"Is this a jutsu?"

I shrugged. "I don't know either. I've never seen stuff like this." Lies, Mirai, I hissed internally. "Keep it a secret?"

Rin flicked the silent sentience beside me a considering look. "…As long as it doesn't hurt you." Then she went to write up a pass for me, assuring me she'd have it deliver on her way to the mission desk: she'd be gone for a week-long mission. Relatively short and simple.

I tried not to think how the mission wasn't as short and simple she said it was: she could die, I would be alone.

Instead, I occupied myself with self-teaching the Academy's curriculum. It was arrogant to assume I could sufficiently coach myself but the theoretical portion of classes taught concepts I had already accepted and grasped during my infant years stretching up to my toddlerhood. With a shinobi always by my side, I had gleaned through the theory they learned in class.

The physical portion—we learned how to throw, how to wield kunai properly, and the Konoha Style. Repeat, practice and perfect until graduation.

The Konoha Style was unsuitable for me because it was designed for those with the average shinobi strength. I wasn't an average shinobi; my body would unlikely even compare to that of an average shinobi's. A bitter fact I had to swallow like a pill the day my mother sat me down in the training ground and explained my body wouldn't be durable no matter how much I trained it, and I shouldn't engage in close combat unless absolutely necessary. Just before she taught me the Uzu Style.

I had only watched a capoeira fight a couple of times, held in my old school. And there had always been a fierce debate about which martial art was better and more effective: capoeira or karate (something similar to the Konoha Style, mixed with aikido and jūdō).

But if the equivalent of capoeira existed here, it was the Uzu Style female Uzumaki favored. Even the males didn't have buff and bodybuilder type of body so the Uzumaki's main style evolved around dodging, dancing around the battlefield to write seals onto the ground with their feet. For example, an explosive seal and their enemies would go _ka-boom!_

Impressive, I know. I just didn't have the fūin-component go with it; an aggravating factor I was still contending with.

All the times my mother had been alive, she'd never taught me. Because my body was already pumped full of spiritual energy and learning more was detrimental at such an early stage. We were more focused on building my body—increasing my physical energy—than intelligence and knowledge.

It was backwards, right?

But this world was backwards: don't you know that it's right for children to kill here?

 **~{VIII}~**

These days, I went everywhere with my journal. I made notes, jotted down ideas and updated information.

Day one of experimenting: grocery shopping.

I still maintained the opinion that letting Rin do all the work was unfair. I wanted to help but I couldn't get near a market without being chased away by a ten-foot pole. This would've been easily rectified by a Henge but I didn't master it.

In fact, I had not even given a single second for it. Now that I knew I could actually materialize intangible clothing, that looked perfectly realistic until the moment you touched it, I decided that the Henge was _way_ below me. I had no need for it when I had my own variation of Henge already.

Having my own unique variation made my chest swell with pride.

For the three basic jutsu required to graduate, I practiced Kawarimi religiously—the only jutsu I couldn't fake through imagination. For my unique disposition for creating forms out of nothing, I knew crap about genjutsu though I did read up on its theory and attempt practicing with Rin, yielding poor results indeed. I treated the Bunshin no Jutsu with the same offhanded dismissal as I did Henge. Materializing them through Yin chakra did not require hand seals. What the idiotic instructors wouldn't know certainly did not bother me. They could hardly accuse me of _cheating_.

I had the practical portion stamped and sealed.

The written exams bugged me but I had decided to rectify this problem by cheating. So I had forgone studying in favor of experimenting.

Anyway, grocery shopping.

I trailed after my creation at a certain distance, watching it carefully.

I did not care for the glares that I'd gotten used to so I did not bother shrouding my true appearance with my special brand of genjutsu. I had more important matters to attend to than to acknowledge the scum I was surrounded with.

Kakashi—temporarily named as such due to its appearance—wandered over to Asuka's Market. He got a couple of weird looks but otherwise, he was admitted. I scrambled over to the glass doors, not entering, but standing there, pressing my face to the glass and staring.

(Ignore them, ignore them, ignore, ignore, ignore)

Kakashi did not act like an idiot.

He walked up to a woman who was wheeling her trolley and sort-of stared. I didn't know. While Kakashi, as an extension of my will, could predict what I wanted and understand what I needed done, I couldn't understand him. Even ninshū fell short here. By projecting my will onto the beast that became this creature's core, I had essentially made it a part of me and I could hardly connect with myself.

Then Kakashi gripped the edge of the trolley. I blinked curiously.

"Um," the woman began awkwardly, a flash of fear crossing her face as Kakashi gave another demanding tug. "Ano, what are you doing … sir?" She spluttered.

Kakashi pulled. The woman, perhaps sensing that Kakashi was not human or had the potential for mindless violence and savagery, let it go. Her gathered groceries seemed to be of the baking variety but then again, I hadn't specified what I wanted. Kakashi wheeled the (stolen) trolley up to the counter, cutting in line and nearly knocking down a toddler. The shoppers quickly parted for him, watching and whispering, puzzlement radiating from them.

Oh my Kami.

My palms flew to cover my gaping mouth as my forehead thunked against the glass. Kakashi, without even looking at the pouch of ryō, tossed it onto the counter and walked right out of Asuka's market—to the complete and utter bewilderment of everyone present.

Kakashi stopped before me.

I shot him a look of pure frigidness: _Get lost! I don't know you at all!_

Kakashi blinked, then he rolled the (stolen) trolley away from me and continued walking.

For some reason, I feel deeply ashamed.

…

..

.

In the end, when Kakashi didn't turn up within the hour at home, I realized that Kakashi had likely taken my order literally: he'd really gotten lost.

At least I established something; this creation of mine wasn't that smart. Unlike its namesake.

I was watching TV (I had no idea how advanced technology was in Naruto but it was TV, I wasn't going to complain about how backward this world was) when an obnoxious knocking nearly blasted my door down. I stared at the wooden door in disbelief. No one visited me or Rin—ever. After I'd caught him, Gekkō Hayate had known better than to show his face here. The nerve of that playboy. I'd set Kakashi on him if it happened to be him.

But, no, the spiritual energy emanating from outside was that of my own and a stranger's.

Kakashi…?

I was wary; Hikenshi wrapped every inch of my body except for my head. I remained on the couch as red threads turned the doorknob. My posture was tense, facing the door that creaked open ominously.

"PARDON THE INTRUSION!" roared a voice simply too exuberant to be allowed. "BUT I HAVE COME TO RETURN YOUR FRIEND!"

The trolley rolled in, full of flour, fruits, wheat and whatnot, which led to a moment of absurd imagining: a trolley wheeling towards villagers to ask for directions and ending up with this green monstrosity for help. My creation wandered in not a moment later, dispelling the ridiculous thinking.

Popping in for a quick look was … a green monster.

My mouth hung open. The remote control slipped from my hand and clattered onto the ground.

"Oh, it was no trouble at all!" Maito Gai's teeth was simply too bright to be legal. They should've come with a warning: _May cause blindness! Viewer's discretion advised!_ And this lunatic was talking as if I was acknowledging him: "It would've been most unyouthful of me to let this young man remain a lost puppy! I was merely doing my job as a denizen of Konoha and as parts of an integral unit, we must—!"

I forced my jaw shut. "Throw him out, Kakashi." His speech about Konoha's integrity was going to make me hurl violently onto my living room carpet.

Gai faltered to a halt. His bright and friendly grin wavered. Eyes black as Kakashi's, but not as bottomless, flickered to the creature ambling towards him, lingering on the grey hair he saw; then they widened in shock and blatant disbelief. " _Kakashi_ —?!"

Kakashi didn't give him a chance to finish. Seizing the obnoxious green beast's shoulder, Kakashi proceeded to haul him out. Backtracked empty-handed and significantly alone in the doorway. Kakashi then slammed the door shut in Gai's face.

The silence on Gai's end was out-of-character. Then, unmistakably: the sound of his footsteps crunching away.

I looked at the creature clad in black, masked in white, and gray-haired. I said, "You're not the real-deal. That you're here shows just how fake you are."

It turned to me and, to comfort me, it nodded decisively.

I blinked. And averted my gaze to the ceiling, feeling extremely put-out. Blind devotion—that had also spurned in my creating this inhuman creature a few feet away, now putting away the groceries and acting as if it was human—was what I wanted.

I was undoubtedly devoted to myself.

So why did it feel so wrong to let this part of me remain nameless? To bear the face of another?

I started talking, dispelling the silence that had smothered the apartment ever since Kushina and Minato died, taking along with them the cheer that often make this house come alive.

"December 24th … that's my birthday. I'm a Capricorn, y'know? And you were created on the 22nd so you're a Capricorn too!" It felt silly to ramble to the creature, to Kakashi's doppelganger. I was practically talking to myself; a fact emphasized by how the doppelganger couldn't speak a lick of Japanese or English.

Capricorn.

"There's no such thing as Zodiacs in Konoha—I mean, it's based-off ancient Japan; if anything, they take blood types to stereotype. If we said it literally in Japanese form, it'll be like Kapurikornu and—and that's stupid, right? What I'm trying to say is … is that we can name you after your birth. I thought about it and I found Capricorn can be written in kanji."

I paused, inhaled. "Yagiza. The Zodiac of this month and the next. What do you think?"

The extension of my will looked up from where he was shoving a packet of flour into the oven. Apparently, Yagiza happened to be a part of me without much common sense, if he even had any.

"Yeah, you do that," I mumbled, staring at him. I kept staring at him, a bit bewildered—not by how he was placing "groceries" in all the wrong places, but by how endearing he struck me to be.

An idea tickled at the back of my mind. I turned to scratch it mentally and stumbled upon something extraordinary—a theory of my genius brain.

Hey, if I could divide my misery, that means I won't feel as much pain, right?

If I stuff the longing for Minato and Kushina and Obito into another "part" when I make it, then that "part" of me will be the one to feel it, not me. I should be able to breathe easier, see better, without tears constantly toying with my vision.

It would work. I knew it would.

When I made Yagiza, I had been thinking about how I'd been humiliated. At the beginning of Mirai's life, I was a crippled, hapless thing; then the mob that had beaten me up, showed how weak I was. The seething fury had ebbed. It ebbed so quickly it was unnatural.

Up until now, I didn't realize it at all.

But when I was walking in the streets earlier, the previous anger was muted. Oh it was still there but it wasn't as big of proportions as I initially thought it should be.

Yagiza had absorbed those feelings; that he kept those feelings locked up inside of him for me was proof he belonged to me. That we were one and the same and were connected intimately.

That should be incentive to go back into the Forest of Death and dig up more beasts to enslave, right?

No.

Yagiza was only physically as powerful as the beast I'd subdued; that beast, while no longer in control or even having a mind of its own, was still only a beast. It had chakra and physical strength I needed. But it couldn't possibly perform ninjutsu. Yagiza was essentially a taijutsu-expert, if it even knew the Leaf Style and Uzu-style I'd learned.

I had tested its intelligence—and found out I could control him telepathically—so now, it was time to see what he was made of.

Aside from my willpower and black substance.

(But I knew)

I knew even before we entered the training grounds and I watched him go through the moves, that if I wanted a tool that could perform its best aside from doing domestic tasks, I needed something of human-intelligence. Not necessarily a beast either.

…

A human. That was the only logical choice next. Rin would never approve; no one would allow it. I did not intend to enlighten her.

So now I had another thing to puzzle out: how do I get a human? How do I break its will and enforce upon it my will?

I'd probed and poked in Rin's mind and connecting with a human mind was easy, natural as breathing. But I didn't dare snip anything. Subservience from Rin was not what I wanted. Plus, I didn't know where to cut. Humans' minds were made of stronger stuff than animals' and obviously, the seams I could take advantage of would only surface when, presumably, the human was in a disheveled mental state.

So many possibilities and so many limits.

I cursed it.

But first, I needed to pass my graduation test.

 **~{VIII}~**

"Why am I here?" I demanded, mildly miffed as Rin poked my shoulder, a stern expression on her face. Despite her namesake, Rin did not seem to belong in winter: her warm dark eyes and hair and caramel complexion were better suited for autumn-themed scenery.

"He's in there," said Rin. She did not need to clarify who she meant.

My body went stiff. I immediately pivoted on my heels and made to walk away but she seized my shoulder. "Mirai, you haven't seen him since he was born!" she hissed. "What's with you?" I shrugged her hand away as gently as possibly, touching the spot where she'd held me. Defensively, I narrowed my eyes at her. "I know Sandaime-sama imposed … _limitations_ … but that doesn't mean you can't visit him. We're under Henge; you can go in undetected."

I closed my eyes—cobalt blue due to the illusion I'd constructed as my disguise—and exhaled through my nose.

Rin and I were stood outside the orphanage in the outskirts of Konoha. This long, large and spacious orphanage built from wood unnerved me plainly because I knew it. The orphanage Kabuto had grown up in. Yakushi Nonō still ran this place so at least I could trust he was in good hands.

What rested uneasily with me was that Danzō had his eyes set on this place.

What if Naruto was to be his pawn?

I didn't know until today that this was the orphanage Naruto had been sent to. I needed to have a word with that old fool. Was he _senile_?

"…I know," I said blandly. "But I just don't want to."

Rin didn't give up easily. "You can't ignore him forever," she murmured. "I know … I know you resent him." I opened my mouth but Rin cut across me, "But it's pointless. Even if childbirth hasn't weakened your mother, O-Obito would've still found a way to rip it out of her. If he had really been hell bent on it."

Rin always knew what was bothering an individual she was close to.

I was sure she wasn't lying or saying platitudes when she said she understood this burning sensation in my chest. I'd purposely busied myself with studying, training and experimenting to ignore Naruto's existence—a pretty easy feat considering he wasn't even old enough to walk yet.

I didn't want to meet him. Not only did I resent him—a little, just a smidgen—I was too ashamed to meet him.

I was still weak. How could I ever do anything _for_ him? If Danzō did show up to whisk Naruto away… no. I couldn't trust in the "goodwill" of the Sandaime. I need to be able to hold some sway of my own, have some power recognizable in the Elemental Nations to deter the war-hawk.

I knew I had ANBU on my tail though they retained a respectful distance.

We had came here under the pretense of Rin checking up on Nonō—for some iryō-nin business—and I was just accompanying my guardian (as I was a minor).

But I still didn't want to risk it. Some of the ANBU might be in Danzō's back pocket. I couldn't risk suspicion at such an early stage.

The lesser contact, the better.

And Naruto was a baby, what was there to do? Stare? Pft. Rin could've just gotten me the pictures or something.

I crossed my arms defiantly. "I have something to do. The graduation exam is tomorrow. Goodbye."

"Mi—!" She cut herself off, remembering that we were in the wide outdoors, and someone might hear, thus seeing through the disguise.

I trudged back to the village, changing the composition of my spiritual energy to alter the illusion everyone saw. To others, I was a prepubescent girl with nondescript features. As I had never performed Henge, I didn't know—and I had never asked—how it felt like under a Henge. Were you at the height your Henge was?

For me who relied on Yin transformation, I remained the same height and saw through the same eyes.

My Yin techniques are not to be confused with genjutsu. Genjutsu was seeping chakra into your target's mind and altering their perception and five senses. My techniques did not do that; it appeared to exist in the physical world but could not interact with anything, unless it was Yagiza's type. It was useful for cheating the graduation test; I had not plotted out what else it could be use for. Other than scenarios where I found myself naked and needed temporary coverage.

Something to know about: being undercover irks me.

Why should I be the one to hide from them? I raged bitterly.

Then my rational side would say, _Because you're still weak. Patience. Wait._

I think my rational side was very smart so I listened to it.

"Namikaze—you _are_ him, right?"

I shot the girl before me a sharp look. Trust Hana to recognize me even under disguise. I attributed this to her superb sense of smell—no, I could not use Yin chakra to create scent. I could only make something visible to the eyes; the other senses would immediately unveil the fakeness of the Yin-creatures. To be fair, Henge had the same weakness.

"Yes," I said stiffly, stuffing my hands into my front pockets, lips pursed. "Done with classes I see."

Hana had the gall to roll her eyes. Around her feet, her puppies barked and shivered, dressed in dog-clothes, sleeves available for their legs. "Of course I'm done, or I won't even be out of the Academy at all." She paused, eyeing me contemplatively, and something in her expression softened. "So you came."

"You did ask me to pick you up from school," I reminded her, shrugging offhandedly—or what I hoped was an offhanded way. "As payment for … y'know." Damn, I still couldn't look into her face without recalling how I'd been beaten by a mob.

I appreciated how Hana waved her hand impatiently, swatting the painful topic—for me—away like it was an annoying fly.

"Though how this actually helps is beyond me," I added in a mumble. My gaze flitted to her bag. It didn't look heavy but … "You want my help with that?" I pointed.

"I can carry it myself!" she insisted, tugging on the strap. "I just … I wanted to ask if you'd be willing to spar with me."

"Spar?" I repeated dumbly, drawing up a blank.

"Yes, spar." She scoffed. "Or has the winter air frozen your brain into a chunk of peas?"

Indignation swelled in me, popping like a balloon. "Fine." I sneered. "I'll wipe the floor with your butt anytime of the day. Come on, I'll show you my favorite, remote training ground."

Hana stumbled to catch up after me. Her winter boots were bulky and completely unfitting if she were to fight. I hoped she had the sense to have tucked her ninja sandals in her bag or it'd be pathetic to see. "Mirai, is it true?"

I made an irritated, impatient noise to make it clear she wasn't clarifying anything.

"That you—are taking the graduation exam tomorrow?" she blurted, changing question midway. I eyed her suspiciously, finally nodding. "Cool. Sure you can pass?"

"You can quiz me after and be the judge yourself."

Surprise registered on her face. "Really?"

"You sound eager," I noted dryly.

"Be _quiet_ ," she hissed, cheeks flushed. "I'm being nice for a change. So why can't you reciprocate?"

"I am," I said shortly. "Now why don't you ask the question you really wanted to ask me?" Hana started. My mouth curled at the corners into a sardonic smirk. "Don't bother lying. I know, I _always_ know," I bragged. My spiritual energy vibrated in agreement. Ready to prove it whenever a situation called for it.

Hana's brows furrowed as she, ostensibly, weighed the pros and cons of asking outright in her head. I know I underestimated her often as her intellect was nowhere near Itachi's but she was pretty dang smart herself. The third-best kunoichi in our year, second only to Uzuki Yūgao and Uchiha Naori.

The rankings in class were as such: Itachi, Naori, Yūgao, some Hyūga, a nondescript Aburame, then Hana and me.

"What's it like?" Hana's voice finally spoke again, loaded with curiosity. "Being the human sacrifice. Having that thing in you."

Naturally, I wouldn't have an honest answer for her.

So, to deflect the question I didn't know how to answer, I said, "You can ask yourself that, Inuzuka. Everyone has their personal demons, and unlike mine, they're actually unsealed."

 **~{VIII}~**

* * *

 **AN:** I'm sorry to say there'll be no drabbles for a while. I bought a new comp and everything recently and, by a miserable mistake, forgot to save the file that had the drabbles for some of my stories, and there went everything I wrote. -groans- I only salvaged old drabbles from PMs, and it's going to take me awhile to figure out what subplots I wrote in drabbles a long time ago.

 **Question:** Can anyone draw a fanart of Mirai?

 **R &R**


	9. Memento Mori

**BAD APPLE**

 **9.** **Memento Mori**

"On the fiftieth thought, _I can't do this at all_!"

It should be illegal to be this loud in the early morning. What surprised me more was that the hubbub involved Itachi. Arriving at the Academy first thing in the morning, I found Itachi waiting for me—as he'd promised. I did not expect another Uchiha there.

He was obviously an Uchiha; if his skin didn't look like he'd been bathing in flour like most Uchiha looked, his curly black hair, telltale black eyes and uchiwa-emblem sewn onto his back would've given him away.

Perhaps because the taller Uchiha boy was shaking Itachi like a rag-doll but my friend didn't immediately notice me. "C-Calm down!" I think Itachi's teeth had knocked painfully together from the outrageous display of … violent affection? "Take a deep breath," instructed Itachi calmly, sounding way mature than his older relative—how backward was that? I wondered as I approached the duo. "Now release it."

He did.

Itachi cringed, face pinching tight. "Shisui, did you brush your teeth?"

"'Course I did!" the older Uchiha snapped. "Strawberry-flavored toothpaste to be exact. Wait, that's not important right now!" A deep inhale of breath, then a hysterical spew of words: " _If I fail, I'll be the first Eternal Academy Student! I dunno why it sounds so grand when it's supposed to be awful and—"_

Itachi poked his cousin's forehead, index and middle finger pinched together for more force, exasperation in the crease of his mouth. "Calm down, Shisui. You can do this. We've been practicing for _weeks_."

They made a sickeningly endearing sight.

Had it been anyone but Itachi, I would've even smiled slightly. But looking at them—recognizing the name Shisui—I felt like someone had pressed a kettle onto my chest. I didn't stop even though the two Uchiha perked: Shisui's ears twitched like a puppy's in curiosity; Itachi opened his mouth and barely got through, "Mi—" before I stomped ahead and past them.

The examination was held in a different classroom than the one I was used to.

I wasn't sure if I should feel happy to be free of that stifling environment or apprehensive that I'd be kicked off the cliff and into new waters.

Realistically, I knew that while kids who graduated during their single-digit years were considered impressive in peace time, it was actually because the Academy had nothing else to offer them even though the curriculum was supposed to accommodate their growth—to ensure they had the able body required for a ninja by the end of the six-year course. In the end, these kids were passed onto jōnin-sensei to be groomed.

We may grow up in different environments but I doubted the growing up part would differ greatly. They did it in the classroom; I did it in training grounds.

I hadn't gone to see the Hokage recently so I hadn't had the opportunity to ask him who my teammates were. If I would even have any.

"Good morning, Mirai."

"Oh, you," I droned dismissively.

Itachi had resumed the seat next to me, slotting into the empty space like he knew it was meant for him. The other genin-hopefuls obviously knew who I was—the blonde hair with the tips drenched in a color reminiscent of blood and purple slitted eyes were difficult traits to miss, as I was told—and they'd avoided sitting anywhere near me.

"… Did something happen on the way to school?" he inquired after a minute's pause where he flipped through his recent memories to find out what he'd done to mortally offend me.

"No," I deadpanned.

"What did I do to you?" asked Itachi shrewdly.

I was about to respond but then I saw Uchiha Shisui standing at our row. His bright— _powerful_ —eyes were curious and assessing. I closed my mouth after saying, "It's a stupid thing. Never you mind." Because it was. What right I have to be jealous of who Itachi wants to be chummy with?

None. So I should keep my mouth shut and suck it up.

"Can I have the window seat?" Shisui pointed to show where he wanted to seat: on my right where sunlight had valiantly fought through the smothering blanket of wintery cold to bask us in its grace.

I ignored Shisui. He took my silence as an affirmative, completely missing the frigid glare I was giving him. Itachi leaned back to let Shisui scramble over. Biting back a curse, I stood to let Shisui pass and he plopped down happily by the window, peering out as if he'd never seen through a window before.

I stared at him, Shunshin no Shisui; Shisui who killed himself to give Itachi more power.

I blinked away the image of eyeless sockets on an older Shisui's face to see the Shisui of now: a boy not knowing that in years to come, he would die a pitiful, pointless death. A dog of Konoha. And his ears had the habit of perking too. Hmph, might as well leash him down with a collar while the authorities were at it. Cute—but sickening. I wrinkled my nose to hide the smile threatening to creep onto my mouth.

"Is there something on my face?" Shisui blinked earnestly at me, having turned back to face us.

"Piece of work, isn't he?" I looked at Itachi, pointedly away from Shisui, as I spoke, sneering sardonically as I did so.

"Among the Uchiha, yes," agreed the Uchiha heir, a hint of a rare smile on his face.

"Why are you ignoring me?" protested Shisui, tugging on the sleeve of my jacket. I shook his hand away from me, edging closer to Itachi. Who had pulled out a history book four-hundred pages thick for some light reading to pass his time waiting. Only _Itachi_ could consider history light-reading.

Shisui was undeterred: he edged closer to me. I had to elbow Itachi for more space. I didn't know how long we'd squirmed and wrestled for space before Itachi closed his book to push back; "I don't have any more space. Please stop being so childish."

And true enough, half of his butt was already hanging off the bench. Glaring evilly at Shisui, I stopped moving and let the ignorant brat wedge himself beside me.

Unsatisfied by whatever vibe I radiated, Shisui clambered onto the desk and yelled, "HEY!"

My eyebrow twitched in annoyance; the whole class had quieted to stare as the foolhardy Uchiha confronted the village's pariah.

 _It's like he's got nothing better to do in his destined-to-be pitifully short life than to continue shortening it… and if he keeps this up, he won't live to see his next birthday … my temper can't take much anymore…_

I clenched my fists. I knew, right now, I was weaker than he was and it sucked that I had to swallow my indignation down due to my weakness. Especially without Yagiza by my side. (Yagiza was safely kept in a storage scroll I tucked into my side pocket.)

Finally deciding to step down (as Itachi showed no signs of intervening; he was pretending we didn't know one another right now) and acknowledge him, just to get him off the desk, I opened my mouth to speak civilly to the uncivilized dog of Konoha to fucking get out of my face.

Before I could so much as spit out one syllable, a prelude of, "Ah, Gomen!" cut across me from the front row. I stared, startled: Shisui's eyes widened and he tumbled far too quickly for me to react—like get the fuck out of the way and let him hit the bench.

(His mouth covered mine—)

…

Strawberry.

Shisui did have strawberry-flavored toothpaste. And he most definitely brushed his teeth.

My eyes bulged, nearly popping out of their sockets, as I stared into Shisui's equally startled black eyes. The close proximity emphasized the largeness of his irises. Then red edged into my vision—literally. Hikenshi materialized in my distress; shoving Shisui off me when my arms were too numbed by shock to do so.

Shisui fell off the desk in stupefaction.

I wrenched on the red threads that still bound Shisui, dragging him back halfway up the desk. "You swine—!" I began to shriek, about to dig his eyeballs out, but Itachi finally intervened.

"Killing one of us will prompt the clan to rain hell on you, Mirai," he advised matter-of-factly. "You can simply wait until Shisui's natural lifespan ends."

I gnashed my teeth. Only the apoplectic fury on my face stopped the spectators from giggling and murmuring. " _Scram_!" I spat at them, swiveling my glare between the cruelly neutral Itachi and the dazed offender, Shisui. I was having a hard time deciding which of these two I wanted to off first. "Why won't you … come and _kiss_ him goodbye too? Once I'm through with him—!"

Amusement traced the aristocratic planes of Itachi's youthful face. "Oh, him? I wouldn't want to risk your wrath."

Before I could fling Shisui into Itachi—an easy feat when my threads did all the work—the teacher body-flickered into the room. And promptly locked in on the three of us. "Sit down," he snapped, jabbing his finger at the bench.

I let Shisui go and he sidled into the seat next to mine once more.

Well, at least he was quiet.

…

(Bloody idiot, that was my _first_ kiss—)

No, I couldn't afford to be distracted.

The taijutsu portion came up first: testing our aim and then we'd be set up to spar one another.

I was surprised to meet my opponent: Mizuki. His hair was a pale, stringy light color and so was his skin. His black eyes—the most common eye-color in Konoha—were shifty as he eyed me with no little amount of fear. But his fear didn't overwhelm him into hysteria, I'd give him that.

"Take your positions," droned the chūnin overseeing this section of the test, looking utterly bored behind his thick-lenses.

I glanced around and saw two other pairs getting into the remaining rings. There were three large white rings—the arenas—where three different pairs would fight at the same time, each supervised by a chūnin instructor. This was to quicken the pace of things.

"Form the seal of confrontation," droned the proctor.

"The seal of confrontation is for comrades," spat Mizuki—the imbecile who'd tricked Naruto and made my brother feel _so, so low_ —virulently. The lines of his shoulders were stiff. He balled his fists in anticipation, sliding into the basic stance most Konoha shinobi utilized. "You're not one of us, _demon_."

"You do not even deserve to be the mud beneath my sandal –bito!" I spat on the ground, uncaring of how many people observing this rudeness. Anger simmered beneath my skin, behind my eyes, heating them. Naruto's tear-filled eyes sprang to mind.

"Begin," came the almost lazy call.

In the split second Mizuki tensed to charge me down, I decided not to use Yagiza unless the situation was dire.

He was fast; I was weighed down by my weighted clothing and weighting-fūin but that hardly mattered when the fight began. Feet still planted firmly on the ground, I twisted my body, letting his blow slide through. He was quick to regain his bearings, not overextending, and instead, he swung his arm sideways to catch me anyway.

I fell sideways, palms on the ground supporting my body as my lower-half twisted; shins slamming into his chest, knees connecting with his right ribcage, to push him back and give me a breather. Mizuki floundered, unused to another style—nothing in the Konoha Style said anything about shins. The thing about everyone training solely with the same style was that you could typically predict your comrade's movements and counter each move.

I rolled into a crouch, body heated with adrenaline and everything but Mizuki faded into a buzz. This time, I went straight for assault: I kicked off to the right and with every lunge forward, I switched direction: left, right, right, left, right, right, left: Mizuki missed the feint, thought I was attacking from the right and I slipped through his guard, driving my elbow into his sternum viciously.

He crumpled and choked but I didn't stop.

I was sure no fighting style here in the Narutoverse—and in my old world come to think of it—entailed anything about kicking your opponent when he was already down.

But I was filled with so much righteous fury, vision marred with every slight against me, of his cruelty towards Naruto, that I took it out on Mizuki: I shrieked in rage as I stomped on his face hatefully, swung the same leg back and kicked his jaw again, graciously showing him out of the ring.

I would've lunged like a wild animal and bash his head repeatedly into the ground but Itachi's cry of, "Mirai!" stopped me from making that leap between animal and human and really, when had that line blurred?

"Enough!" roared the deadbeat chūnin. His thick lenses did little to hide his apoplectic fury now. "Get back, demon!"

Biting my tongue, I fell back into line. Chest still heaving, rage still fluttering with every beat of my heart in a body that had yet to be drained of adrenaline, watching as the chūnin supposed to oversee the middle ring tend to Mizuki, quickly rushing him away to the hospital wing when it became clear there was something he was incapable of fixing.

"Mirai." A comforting weight on my arm; I unwittingly tensed. "It's okay." Lower than a whisper above the wind: "You're not a demon, you're not."

And Itachi gripped my arm so hard his fingernails left indents on my fair skin, as if he was trying to ingrain the truth into me.

Shisui poked my side. I squirmed away, annoyance returning in full blast as I looked at him. "Itachi's right. I mean, no demon can be as cute as a kitten! You hiss like one when you're angry, right Itachi?"

…

(I seriously wanted to kill him for practically shouting it to the whole class to hear. The only reason no one laughed was because Mizuki's beating was still fresh in their minds)

(They knew fear; good. It would seem Konoha wasn't a breeding ground for hopeless cases yet. Always with the yet)

…

"Namikaze Mirai!"

After three fucking hours of written testing, I was finally going to wrap this up with the ninjutsu portion. I flexed my fingers. The written test had been easy because I cheated like no tomorrow: I was more than happy to abuse ninshū to its fullest.

Twinning my spiritual energy with Itachi's or any other remarkable-looking graduates, I'd managed to scrape together a compilation of points that fit the criteria of the question, eventually succeeding in composing an essay to acquire the grade.

Their contemplative thoughts were sickening—my stomach was still churning even after a forty-minute lunch break—mainly because everyone was so _patriotic_ , easily coming up with ideas to best serve Konoha if they became shinobi.

Don't even get me started on the question. If I hadn't been able to use ninshū and join minds to pluck their ideas, I would've failed for sure.

Disgust still curling around my shoulders like a snake, I entered the room at the back. And was faced with even more disgust from the examiners. They were certified chūnin with a great many dozen missions secured beneath belt so they were less intimidated by me and I'm sure no one in the village had missed how a disorganized mob had been capable of overwhelming me. That did little to erase the loathing and hatred.

Or the loathing could've been from me. Honestly, these days, it was getting harder to discern whose emotions were whose.

As if feeding upon my subconscious, innermost desire to be with my parents and Obito once more, the tendrils of Yin chakra in me always stretched in every direction, going as far as they could go—trying to find someone who was beyond reach, as futile as knowing someone you'd never met before.

Needless to say, I did not find Minato or Kushina or even Obito. Instead, for every unfriendly spiritual energy that I inadvertently brushed against, I would get a blast of hatred, fear, disgust and every possible negative emotion for the jinchūriki.

As I could feel what others were feeling, it might've mixed up what I was feeling myself.

Here I was, gazing into cold, discouraging eyes, and feeling a marginal amount of loathing that might not even be me. Hatred was tiring, withering; anger was stronger, fuelling. I wished they'd been angry instead of hateful.

My mouth turned down into a frown to mirror theirs.

"You can begin," said the elder, bearded chūnin in a stiff, overly formal tone. He was so different from the kind, fatherly man towards his first-years. "With the Kawarimi."

My eyes lingered on the trays that sported neat rows of metal on cloths: hitai-ate. Then I let my gaze flit around the room, scanning the place for available replacements. I had to take in my size and how it proportioned with the object I had in mind.

I carefully molded chakra, letting my fingers do the job for me, and I expelled it: my chakra lashed onto the broom in the corner and tugged the same time it flung me into the spot where the item was. I landed on my feet—thankfully—in the corner of the room, chest tight with the breath of relief I was withholding.

The first few times I'd tried it, I'd landed in ungraceful sprawls or I would only manage the journey halfway there.

"Henge, next," was the clipped response I got and a critical eye still gauging me. Hoping for a mistake.

I dragged my feet to the middle of the room again, feeling more and more uncomfortable with each passing second. My spiritual energy left the pores of my skin to cloak completely around me, altering itself to fit my imagination.

"What … without hand seals?" hissed the younger man—flaxen hair and emerald eyes—who'd been quiet up until now. His senior shrugged him off. Uttering a curse under his breath, I saw him clasping his hands together. "Kai." He stared in blatant shock at the unchanging scenery.

I couldn't stop the complacent from carving my lips into a smug shape.

The senior chūnin furrowed his brows; expression dark. "Let's see your Bunshin no jutsu then."

My spiritual energy divided, spreading into the atmosphere and created perfect mirages of me. "It's not a genjutsu," I assured the green-eyed fool, laughter in my voice. My chakra didn't invade their brains, after all, so it couldn't even be counted as genjutsu.

Liken my ability to that of a hologram. You could see it and its source but you couldn't touch it. The typical dispelling jutsu for genjutsu didn't work since my technique did not invade the target's brain.

"You seem to have remarkable chakra control," noted the senior chūnin impassively. He gestured generously to the tray of hitai-ate. "You passed, Namikaze."

"That's too bad," I paused, a wicked smirk directed at the younger, red-faced chūnin, "It must be what you're thinking right now." I swiped the hitai-ate closest to me and left as quickly as possible without coming off as running away.

Since examinees could leave once the graduation test was over, I was about to shoot out of the Academy—and off to the Hokage Tower since the old man wanted a 'chat' to check on my progress. But then I saw Shisui waving me over to where he and his cousin were seated and I remembered I did have a friend who could … dunno, share with me the joys of being a dog. No, wait, a dog gets better treatment than I do. A slave, I mean a slave.

"Hey," I said unenthusiastically.

"You passed." Itachi had to lean around to see the metal peeking out from my pocket. "Where will you tie it?"

"I'll find a place," I mumbled. "Good luck to you—not that you need it." I mustered a faint smile his way, ignoring Shisui completely.

"You should tie it around your forehead," Shisui spoke up anyway. He grinned, unabashed even though I still felt the faint twinge of embarrassment. I noticed that he was missing a tooth at the far back of his mouth, a gaping hole. "Keeps your bangs plastered underneath the cloth so we can see your eyes better."

I grunted noncommittally. "See ya."

"Mirai." I looked back at Itachi. "If you're free later this evening, can you make your way to Echizen's kissaten?"

"… Sure." It wasn't like I have anything to do anyway. Rin would be at home now, having requested to have a couple of hours break from work so she could celebrate with me.

"There's no question of you failing," Rin had told me, faith in her eyes and pride in her smile, as she cupped my cheek. Warming me better than my coat could. "You are your parents' son, after all."

But first, I had an audience with the Hokage.

…

..

.

"Congratulations, Mirai-kun. Your parents would've been proud."

I snorted. "Not proud enough to come back to life, I'm afraid." Then, in the empty space hatred and loathing had left, I felt regret at my callous words seeping in. The Sandaime had never expressed negativity in my presence and a tangle of spiritual energy let me know he pitied me, that he wanted me to be brave, to be strong and be loved.

Hypocrite, you placed me here in the first place.

"Sorry," I added after a moment' pause, where I was also reminded that he was Hokage and I a measly genin. "I'm really sorry." I softened my tone, blinking as morosely as possible. There, balm on open cut.

The crease upon his brows disappeared. "Sit and we'll talk, Mirai-kun." Sarutobi opened the lid of his teapot. "Green tea. Care for some?"

"No, I don't like bitter stuff." Also, it would be the height of stupidity a ninja could be capable of to accept drinks from anyone you don't know that well. And I didn't know Sarutobi that well. Rubbing my hands together brought little distraction. So I asked right off the bat, "What did you wish to discuss?"

"You're genin from today. Speaking of which, you must have your photo taken for your personal profile later."

"Oh, do tell me more about this two-month-old thing."

"It is in a very secure location," Sarutobi assured me, tapping his temple. "In here. Your official profile will have nothing but the most basic and mundane details."

I nearly smiled at his witty humor. "Right. Genin," I prompted somewhat impatiently s he took a long sip of his green tea. "Is this about team placements?"

"I have picked them," he offered neutrally. "Rather, we are here to discuss about the political aftermath of the Kyūbi Attack."

I examined my nails, scowling. The events that led to the coup d'état began right about now. "The Uchiha are being suspected. Oh, _please_. A dog could tell what's off. The Uchiha are the only clan being moved around, oppressed, placed under constant surveillance simply because they had also underestimated and belittled a boy who grew up to be like his ancestor. Good for Obito, really –bito."

I bit my tongue immediately after. My verbal tic only surfaced when I was feeling particularly strongly about something. Evidently, I came across too passionately to the man who had my life in his hands. Sarutobi steepled his fingers, eyeing me over them.

"Do you blame Obito?"

"Didn't you hear Rin's account? He was being forced to do it -bito!"

"A Mangekyō user," A dreadfully doubtful pause, "was being manipulated by genjutsu from afar?"

I shook my head angrily. "Rin didn't saw what she _thought_ she saw."

"You weren't there," the Hokage recalled, "How would you know, Mirai-kun?" His tone of voice was carefully neutral; I tried not to let it fool me. I was walking on eggshells here. I knew.

"I know a shinobi worth his salt won't place bets on faith and bonds." I inhaled shakily, staring hard at his desk. At Minato's desk. I remembered with painful clarity of clambering onto the desk for Minato's attention and purposefully messing up his paperwork. Had even imagined a younger brother copying my action—double-team of hellions to bug our father.

"But … Obito is—he's _my_ Obito, my guardian. The closest thing I had to an elder brother –bito." And more. "I know it's a flimsy excuse but whatever you say won't dispute what I have to say: it wasn't him. It wasn't the other Uchiha either. Obito was—is—easily the strongest Uchiha and he's the only one who could've subdued the Kyūbi; the reason why he was targeted in the first place."

Sarutobi stared at me. Long and contemplative. "I see. I knew Obito-kun too and I similarly do not believe he would attack Konoha without a sufficient reason. However, we cannot allay the blame and distrust on his part, on his clan's part, without concrete evidence."

I shrugged. I had an idea as to what it might be forcibly pulling Obito's strings but … "I dunno either, sir."

"Either way, we are off-track." Sarutobi waved the topic close. "You know, I suppose, that the Uchiha are a prideful lot. They would be unsatisfied by this treatment. And that is why I need your … ah, help to convince them I do trust them."

"How?" I asked, baffled.

"Your teammate is an Uchiha."

"Itachi?" I perked up. That was almost too good to be true.

And sure enough, Sarutobi dashed my short-lived hopes by saying: "A talented kunoichi of the Uchiha clan, Naori. She was your classmate, I believe. I have yet to receive her results so I do not know if she's graduated or not."

"You know she will," I rolled my eyes. "Or you won't even bother me with this conversation."

Sarutobi let me off the hook for the rudeness. "Yes. But Danzō is adamant about his distrust so he has sent—"

"A member of Root," I muttered bitterly. "Great. I'm the filings of a sandwich that wants to flatten itself from both ends."

Sarutobi chortled at the poor allegory—I can't be good at everything, okay? "Essentially." He pushed a file across the desk. A picture of a brown-haired boy with pale skin and bottomless black eyes stared impassively up at me, about four to five years older than I was. I recognized the stupid headdress so similar to the Nidaime's. "Tenzō. Equipped with the very weakness of a bijū: Mokuton. You have on your hands a team full of potential."

Potential to persevere and bring good to Konoha. Potential to fall apart and kill one another.

"Who's our jōnin-sensei?" I asked.

The old man's mouth curved into a faintly pleased smirk, alarming me. "You will see tomorrow."

I glanced at my teammate one last time before I closed the file and handed it back to him. "Is that all?"

"One more thing, your brother; have you seen him?"

I slanted him a wry smile. "Rin talked to you?"

"She has expressed her concerns to me," he conceded. "Mirai-kun, whatever happens, know that it will be worth it in the end." He reached over the distance and clasped my hand, surprising me. His palm was warm and callused, every mar on his skin told a tale of death and glory on the battlefield in his years as an active fighter. His eyes were older than both my lives added together. "The Will of Fire is within you as it is within everyone in the village; when you are at your weakest, think of what keeps that fire going. When you feel all hope is lost, look into the face what has brought you to this point, and make a choice."

"Don't you mean persevere?"

"That," said Sarutobi in a tone marked with finality that signaled the end of our meeting for today, "is one of the choices you can make. Good day, Mirai-kun."

He smiled me out of his office.

(But his eyes were darker than the night)

…

Walking home, getting lost in thoughts, I'd nearly forgotten about Rin.

(I had a choice? Really?)

Until she seized me around the middle and hugged me. "Mi-chan, where's your hitai-ate?" was the first thing out of her mouth. I was tempted to say I didn't get anything and watch her squirm in discomfort before delivering the punch line: but then, I saw beyond her shoulder.

At the dining table, a feast was positively making the table sag. How could I thoughtlessly make fun of her trust?

I fingered the hitai-ate in my pocket and withdrew it, slowly, kicking up the suspense. Smiling almost shyly when I showed it to her. "Um, I made it –dattebito."

Her beatific smile was almost enough to obscure the meaning of this hitai-ate.

Serve to your death.

Memento mori; this is what will kill you in the end.

But—for today, I'd pretend.

I touched Rin's cheek, and smiled like I mean it.

 **~{IX}~**

Done up in my disguise, I entered Echizen's without fuss and scanned the area. I spotted _her_ immediately; she was the only one who could've asked Itachi to pass along a message to meet up. I made my way to her. Stopped by her table and stared at her.

My godmother, Uchiha Mikoto, who hadn't shown her face in months since my parents' deaths. Suddenly here. Though she had not altered her appearance with genjutsu or Henge, she was wearing a mask of her own; a mask of serenity and careless abandon. Beneath it, I saw sadness.

"It's me." My eyes flashed violet slits before the brown of the disguise replaced it.

Mikoto smiled in understanding and gestured to the seat opposite of her. "Would you like anything?" she asked, not missing a beat.

"I've ate so I'm full, thanks." Rin had done her best to stuff me up. I don't think I can swallow down anything for dinner. "It's been awhile, hasn't it?" Mikoto opened her mouth to explain, stricken, and I knew abruptly what she was going to say: guilt wafted off her in palpable waves for a ninshū-practitioner. "I don't blame you; your clan's in a tough position, I get it. I'm sorry you have to go through this."

Mikoto, like Itachi, was one of the very few people I genuinely liked. As my godmother, she could've taken custody of me but the status of jinchūriki barred everything. Or Itachi and I could've grown up as brothers. In another world, another time, another life perhaps.

I smiled bitterly. "I did want to see you, however."

Mikoto fiddled her fingers, like a guilty child. I tried not to draw wry amusement from this scene. "I was … at their … funeral." She swallowed thickly. "You weren't there."

"They would've gone crazy –bito. You heard about the mob attack not long ago?"

"Yes." And her eyes hardened. "I've ordered more patrols around where you live. They'd regret it if you were attacked again." She didn't specify who'd regret it: the assailants or the Uchiha who had failed me once. So much for law-enforcers.

"It's much appreciated." Deciding to test the waters, see if she really came here for _him_ , I added, "Because fighting through a mob of admirers isn't going to cut as an excuse for tardiness later on; _Obito_ actually has a substantial reason, y'know –bito."

She tensed by a minuscule. Awareness flared through our connection—one she was unaware of. Bingo. "Oh. Obito."

"Troublemaker … disgrace to the clan to the very end, hm?"

"Mirai, please." I looked at her. "Please don't use that tone." She cast me a saddened look.

 _That tone_ —each syllable a needle coated in irony and stabbed through precisely to convey the utmost derision I felt. Taunting, laughing, bitter as coffee.

"I thought you knew Obito," I started with a tone of forced calmness, for her sake.

"I thought I knew him," she agreed, "Did you—?"

"Don't ask," I cut her off flatly, "I haven't seen him since that night of the Kyūbi Attack and … and if he had been back…" I inhaled sharply. "I would've known; Rin would've known. He always comes back, if he can. He promised."

"What if he can't?" she suggested delicately, fingers tightening together. "What do you think is stopping him?"

I know who. I know what. I looked away from her face. "I can't answer that. But, someday, I'll find him."

A long, heavy silence descended upon us but Mikoto didn't excuse herself. A waiter came around long enough to refill her cup before she spoke again, after taking a sip. "About Kushina—I'm sorry. You know not one of the Uchiha would've done it. We actually supported the Yondaime, did you know?"

"Itachi told me as much," I demurred, tracing nonsensical patterns on the desk. "I trust you."

"Thank you." She smiled. "Mirai, whatever happens, you are my godson. If you ever need anything, you know you can come to me and I'll see what I can do about it. You don't have a clan's backup for political battles but you may find refuge with us."

Humans were two-faced creatures. I didn't need ninshū to see right through my godmother.

While she spoke the truth, it was only the partial truth spurned on by what she thought she knew: that I was the Kyūbi's vessel. While a small part of her was fulfilling her role as a godmother, she was also securing a weapon, an ally, for her clan if worse comes to worse.

And we all know how infallibly loyal desperate, isolated jinchūriki could be after someone finally threw them scraps of kindness.

Looking into the woman who'd given birth to Itachi, to see his face looking at me from her, it made me wonder how genuine his friendship was.

I looked at the table, suddenly feeling ill to my gut.

There was a reason why I did not join minds with Itachi unless absolutely necessary—e.g. cheat answers during tests—because it would only completely break whatever trust I had in humanity.

(That our friendship was only a failsafe, a weapon to be used in the end, hurt to compute)

I was afraid of knowing, and suspecting—always pondering—was far better than dead certain absolution.

"That's … nice … of you, Mikoto-obā-san," I spoke gratefully, smiling, trying to look humbled and touched instead of looking like I wanted to spew poison in her face. "But, uh, I'm in a rush. There's nothing else you wanted?"

"Oh, no." Mikoto's smile dimmed slightly. "I'm sorry for taking your time. As a genin, your schedule will be even more hectic—I'm glad I managed to see you before that. Stay strong, Mirai."

I shrugged. "I'll try," I found myself saying to please her ears.

"Your parents' blood flows strongly in you and I know that you've inherited their Will of Fire."

Even the Uchiha spewed rubbish about that spiritual thingy? Probably must've been the decades of indoctrination and subjugation. I tried not to look flabbergasted as I nodded and stood, walking out of the kissaten, deep in thought.

My schedule was, as she'd said, was going to be change once I become genin. I knew who my teammates were and while I'd never spoken to Naori, I know she was a capable kunoichi and I think she had been a canon character. Though I'd never seen her in the manga. She looked nothing like Mikoto, a generic female Uchiha, not with her purple hair.

Danzō's dog was a different matter entirely. I've got to look in every direction to ensure no kunai came stabbing at me. We'd still be training together; such a disconcerting thought.

I filled my free time with training and, if Rin was free too, she'd rope me into spending time with her: preparing meals, watching TV, taking walks. She persisted in me seeing my brother but I repeatedly declined and would turn mysteriously deaf if she didn't change the topic right away. As I kept telling her, it was pointless and ate away at my time.

But—

(When you feel all hope is lost, look into the face what has brought you to this point, and make a choice)

Maybe the Sandaime's moniker of Professor isn't just a balloon of hot air.

Hands tucked in my pocket, the very picture of nonchalance, I headed to the outskirts of Konoha.

…

..

.

The orphanage was situated at the very outer parts; a worrying fact since enemies could easily kidnap them. I summoned the most nondescript images I could and altered my appearance, slipping through the front yard where children of ages from five to eleven were playing, running around like hooligans. Naruto would only be a few months old. Hardly qualified to be running around so I didn't linger at the front.

The front door of the large orphanage was wide open, allowing me to enter without resorting to drastic measures. Homely and warm, the interior of the orphanage was splashed in colors of modest brown, the same color as the wood on the outside. White-maroon carpets covered the floor. I saw a TV where toddlers were gathered before, watching avidly at the actors. There were no cartoons and animations here; technology wasn't that advanced yet, it would seem.

Automatically assuming the babies would be upstairs, I headed for the stairwell. I froze when I saw one of the matrons, a woman dressed like a nun. Funny, because we're supposed to be in Asian setting and if anything, priestesses did not dress like that.

I glanced at my hand and imagined really hard. Spiritual energy coiled around me tighter, and my arm disappeared from sight—so did the rest of my body. They had changed to the color of the flooring and wallpaper: I was a human chameleon. For now.

I walked up the stairs stealthily, quickly. The shrill cries of infants were a trail that led me to them.

With every step, excitement bubbled and frothed to the brim. Come to think of it, Minato said he was going to seal both himself and Kushina's remaining chakra into Naruto, right? Maybe … maybe I could communicate with them!

Why hadn't I remembered that fact before?

I hastened my pace.

I slipped into the room full of cribs. Toys littered the sitting area: few toddlers were building blocks together. A couple more toddlers were being taught how to read and write by an older child. Everywhere I looked, I saw an integral family composed of unrelated-by-blood children.

I paused long enough to wonder: in my previous life, had the orphanage I'd lived in ever shown such integrity? I was disconcerted to realize I didn't remember. Whether it was because I never go out of my way to be acquainted with the orphans or I just forgot—I don't know.

I found my brother.

The name plaque with his name on it looked saddening without a family name to accompany Naruto. He was awake, though just recently, if the dreamy expression generally induced by sleep was any indication. His eyes made me feel like Minato was staring through them at me.

I probed at Naruto's mind but found no traces of either of my parents. My hopes went to the drain and a scowl morphed my face though I doubted Naruto could see me. I placed my hand on his stomach, tentatively, trying to direct my spiritual energy through to reach the seal.

Spiraling into his skin, getting closer to the fūin—

My searching energy touched something. It did not prepare me for the roar in my mind that followed a complete blackout:

"YONDAIME! You interfering human cockroach, release me! I will rend you from limb to limb!"

Startled by the roar, I raised my shocked, wide purple eyes to that of the Kyūbi's.

 **~{IX}~**

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Reply to reviews:

CarishTale: Can't wait to see it :)

This is Chara's signature:

brunofanofk: I remembered so I already retrieved it from the outbox section. Thanks anyway :D

SupremeGeneralJoke: Rest assured, this creation is harmless. His other creations- and there'll be two more at least- will be more dangerous.

Dot. Rose: Lol, that'll be hilarious. Mirai won't have up to six, I think.

Em Cay: The parallels are deliberate, glad someone noticed. Sasori is one of my fav characters so he'll play a pretty big supporting role in later chapters, and their similarities will be noted by both then.

sereneskydragonslaye: He's the decoy; people don't know he's not the jinchuriki.

Queensj: I'm not contemplating romance yet, but maybe.

Guest: It's pretty much a given lol. It's heavily implied in the intro of the first chapter. XD

Thanks to: SophieNewman, Guests, Fushia Flame, kellyshl and everyone else! :)

* * *

 **AN:** A last-minute update, so I didn't have time to proofread it once more for mistakes, excuse them please. Btw, I won't have access to a computer for a while so I probably won't be able to answer reviews immediately. Ask anyway, I'll get back as soon as I can.

And thank you **misoriri** for the fanart of Mirai. I would've shared it if FF's links aren't broke. ;)

 **Question:** Do you think Mikoto is being genuine or just manipulative?

 **R &R**


	10. Chapter 10

**10\. Dream**

Water sloshed against my ankles as I moved ahead, toward the seal. On first glance, it was so flimsy—just a paper with red scribbles. Orange fur ruffled behind the metallic bars, the roof of the metaphorical cage soaring so high upward the top wasn't seen.

Hands hovered above the seal almost reverently. Eyes flickered to the gilded cage that withheld the Kyūbi's retribution. It was gold and it was intricately designed, but still a prison nevertheless.

My fingers had closed around the seal when the Kyūbi lowered its head enough to look me in the eye. Its single eye, redder than the sun, than my mother's hair, was so big I could've gone swimming in it. "You've shrunk Yondaime." The Kyūbi observed and batted at me futilely, the bars holding him back.

A watery laugh squeezed out of my throat. "So bijū think progeny is shrinking in size? Ha … hahahaha…!" My disappointment was choking me. I slumped against the seal, wishing it would unravel and my father would materialize.

Was it selfish to tear the seal down only so Minato's failsafe would activate and enable me to meet him—one last time?

Just – just once more – and everything

(all my hate, my anger, i'll cast away)

Just for one smile. One glance. One word.

"I'll tear this seal away if I could."

A lid closed slowly, incredulous over one humungous eye. "What's stopping you from undoing it now?" Its voice, for once, was not furious but curious.

"I'll pay to let you raze Konoha to the ground," I continued, finally raising my eyes to look at the great and terrible bijū. "But I can't, not if it means you'll trample my father's sacrifice into the ground will you're at it."

A tail lashed at the bars, rattling the cage. I was still slumped against it and it jarred me, too. Glanced up and saw the Kyūbi bearing its very shiny and sharp fangs at me. "What—precisely—are you here for—and how? You're not the jinchūriki." His voice dripped with contempt.

"It's ninshū. The union of spiritual energy, of the mind. It wasn't my intention to end up here…"

The visible eye bulged. "Impossible!" his hackles rose, tails fanning like sun rays in the morning. "Humans sullied the Sage's teachings, all records of ninshū was lost, desecrated into the ninjutsu you _insects_ abuse!" His agitation rose with his shout, shaking the cage, throwing me back.

I blinked rapidly.

My spiritual energy was loosely twinned with Naruto's—could I…? Tendrils of tentative spiritual energy seeped through the gaps of the cage, reaching for the Kyūbi's own.

Finding it and latching on was like forcing a piece of jigsaw from another puzzle to a different one. It didn't mesh, it didn't fit. And like things forced together, it cracked.

And pouring from the jagged split was—

(Rikudō Sennin, in his waning hours, promising that someday, somehow, someone would unite them all and bring peace to the world)

(Minato's corpse, pale and cold and stiff, before his eldest son's heartbroken, tear-filled gaze, about to be buried)

(Wetness sneaked down his fur as the Hagoromo's ribcage ceased rattling with his breaths)

(Tears wet his cheeks, his hair, his shirt, the bed, and more to a point where he wondered if Konoha would sink under his grief and the tears borne of it)

(I lost my father, too)

 _This bottomless grief—whose is it? Kurama's? Mirai's?_

(… And he's never going to come back)

—Kurama's roar rent the mindscape in halves.

Color washed into sight: I was suddenly back in my body, and Naruto was wide awake, face scrunching into the beginning of a wail. I reeled back, tripping and falling, realizing as Naruto bawled that my disguise had fallen off.

Shakily, I reapplied the chameleon flush, blending into the background once more.

Though I was now camouflaged again, one boy seemed to have seen through me. My age, his distinctive gray hair and round glasses: Yakushi Kabuto stared right at me.

I turned and ran before my thoughts could root me to the spot.

I touched my eyelashes and my fingers came away wet as rain.

 **~{X}~**

Yagiza was the best sparring partner I could ask for. My punches and hits slid off him without harming me, the black substance that encompassed his entire being somehow smooth.

Generally, when you hit a punching bag or a log, your knuckles will ache. While that built up pain tolerance, I couldn't be bothered. I intended to focus on speed, as was the key component to the Uzu style. I was just going to have to dodge every blow or deflect it.

Left, right, right, left, left, kicking off the ground and drilling back against gravity.

I darted half a round around Yagiza, drawing a distance, but Yagiza lunged the same time I jumped and kicked. Times like these, he actually had half a mind of his own: he attacked without my directions but he also knew when to stop in case he seriously injured me.

Thus, the best sparring partner.

I'd came straight to my personal training ground after seeing Naruto and Kurama—the latter unintentionally so. Kurama's hateful eyes were still boring into me behind closed lids.

Yagiza dragged me back into reality by slashing. His claws—the claws of the beast he originated from—nearly cut me in half, it was that lethal.

I gritted my teeth as I skidded away. "Faster!" I spat at it. Yagiza's inhuman eyes flashed before he lunged: an uppercut, claws glinting, followed in rapid succession by kicks as he was airborne. I caught the underside of the kick and shoved him upwards, intending to upset his balance. Yagiza somersaulted, undaunted, and landed a few feet away.

He didn't give me a breather; lunging again, kicking up dust as he did so, he threw punches in intervals of slashes.

My legs ached as I bent my knees and skidded to the ground, looking for all like I was about to break dance, before I swept his legs out from under him. Yagiza countered even as he fell: he kicked and his left leg caught me in the abdomen, sending me flying. Dazed by pain, I didn't— _couldn't_ —get up.

Yagiza wandered over, not on offense, but concerned and curious, awaiting his next set of orders. I wheezed as I cradled my gut, aching, covered in dust.

"Shit, I lost to myself … a part of me …" I cut my eyes to Yagiza's silent, hunched form. "Think I'll ever amount to something in the future?"

Yagiza's face was still hidden behind his mask and he didn't actually have a face but I could think of Kakashi's smiling face, right?

I rested flat on my back, my body winding down, allowing a space of breath for – _pain_ loneliness _misery_ \- before I jumped back to my feet. "Again and faster this time!"

…

I was "playing" tag with Yagiza when two unwelcomed intruders entered my training ground. The explosive tag blasted three, completely innocent trees away, deafening me. The smoke from the explosion masked their immediate appearance but Itachi's spiritual energy—shocked, concerned—was impossible to miss.

Yagiza stopped immediately and we, as one, turned to look at the two Uchiha boys standing in our clearing now decorated with craters, varying in depth and size, so we looked like we were on the moon.

"Mirai," Itachi's tone was that of someone trying to reign in his emotions, "Who is that man?"

"Oh, yeah, I never actually showed you, did I?" My eyes trailed to Shisui. He caught my eye and grinned. Cheeks hot, I returned my full attention to Itachi as I pointed at Yagiza. "This is Yagiza, a part of me."

"… Uh, you mean he's your friend?" asked Shisui for confirmation, confused.

"I don't expect tiny brains to comprehend it so I wouldn't even bother explaining it." _Not in front of Shisui_ ; Itachi understood the message. After all, Shisui and I weren't even acquaintances, much less a someone I trusted enough to share secrets with. "I was relaxing."

"I heard explosions." Itachi pursed his lips, eyeing Yagiza thoughtfully.

"We were, ah, playing," I mumbled lamely. Yagiza showed the Uchiha the armful of paper bombs and kunai he had amassed. "And improving my speed."

Shisui's eyes lit up. "Cool! Can we play?" I blinked. I was pretty sure Shisui was older than the both of us—we were going to turn eight this new year, ignoring the months of difference and how my birthday was at the end of the year—but he acted … like a child. A talented, ingenious child. Without a doubt in my mind, he was a brilliant prodigy in spite of his attitude.

He reminded me a bit of Obito with his chirpiness. Just a bit.

"Yes, the more the merrier …" I smirked. I was going to _fry_ Shisui.

Itachi glanced warily between us like he knew what I was thinking and he contemplated warning Shisui. Ultimately, he left Shisui to his fate and kept quiet.

…

Three hours of tag later, I had been enlightened as to why Shisui would one day be renowned as Shunshin no Shisui. He had yet to master Shunshin but he showed proficiency in it already, his hands flying through the hand seals with barely a thought.

In fact, Yagiza—so, in essence, I—might even have _helped_ him.

Yagiza was definitely targeting him more than he did Itachi or me, his creator. The only way Shisui had managed to walk out of the woods surrounding the clearing in one, singed and smoking, piece was due to his naturally speedy reflexes and the Shunshin.

I guess he was good for something since he taught it to me and Itachi too.

I didn't seem to have the natural inclination for it.

"Ouch, ouch, ow!" I yelped as Rin rubbed the bump on my forehead (Shunshin right into a tree can do that) testily. Yagiza had gone to get her after we passed out in the clearing, exhausted and beaten up. She must've been miffed to see me out so late, breaking the curfew she'd imposed on me. Though I was an adult already (genin, remember?) she still insisted upon the curfew.

Rin huffed as she healed the bruise, palm enveloped green, and the swelling decreased. Slumped against me was Shisui, snoring softly, as we were seated underneath a large, imposing Hashirama tree. Even Itachi was nodding off to the choir of crickets. Rin had chosen to patch me up last. Hmph!

"I've never heard of a game of ninja that ends with so many injuries," said Rin. The game I called tag was actually ninja in this world.

Yagiza might or might not have grabbed Shisui's collar to pummel him. Itachi had intervened to help (Shisui). I had joined the fray to kick the crap out of a certain Uchiha. We were just playing, really.

"Aren't you hungry? You missed dinner," Rin continued mutinously, flicking my forehead in the same manner Kushina had done to me and Itachi often when she thought we'd done something particularly cute or amusing.

That was where the infamous _maybe-next-time-Sasuke-_ poke had originated from: my mother. Had Itachi mimicked it in remembrance of my mother? His godmother. I blinked away the familiar burn in my eyes.

"Come to think of it, my stomach's growling."

"I've kept leftovers. We'll heat it when we get back. Why don't you wake Itachi-kun and …"

"Let's leave Shisui here," I suggested happily.

Rin arched a brow; a familiar expression of warning that I wouldn't want to mess with her. I relented, shaking Shisui's shoulders roughly. He groaned. Oh, why did I even bother with physical means when I could do spiritual? I didn't even need to concentrate for the wafting tendrils of spiritual energy to seep into Shisui's brain and tug. A harsh, mental tug that had his eyes flying open, bewildered as he subconsciously registered that tug to be a warning of danger.

The human mind was fascinating that way. Like violin strings. One pull, different pitch of sound; one pull, different messages were sent.

"What—? Who?" Shisui gaped at Rin.

"I'm Nohara Rin, Mirai's medic and guardian," she introduced drily, ruffling Shisui's hair. "You'll catch a cold if you sleep here—and you missed dinner."

"You're not inviting him—?" I was incredulous.

"Of course, Itachi-kun is always welcome in our home," she continued cheerily, her words directed at the half-awake Itachi, ignoring me.

I was frowning as Rin and Yagiza marched us home; if someone was ignorant enough, it would seem like two parents herding their children back home. My range of sight always ensured Shisui was in it.

Why?

Since when did Itachi actively hang around Shisui? Since the Kyūbi's attack? Perhaps Shisui was part of the intensive training regime Fugaku had imposed upon his son? That was how they met?

The last time I saw Itachi before graduation was when he came to me alone. Probably before his intensive training started. Then we had virtually no contact until earlier today. Asking with Shisui around seemed … well, I didn't want him to hear how jealous I was. I had a hard time masking my true emotions in my words, I'll have you know.

"Wash your hands before you sit down," called Rin as she extracted plate after plate from the fridge. I felt a pang of guilt, thinking of how long she'd waited to start dinner without me. Maybe I should leave a note or something when I wasn't going to be home early.

"'Kay!" A short nap had revitalized Shisui; he shot off into my apartment's bathroom.

"You don't like Shisui," noted Itachi quietly as we lingered in the hallway.

I couldn't stop a sneer. "Oh? What gave it away?"

"Shisui never discriminated against you," said Itachi.

"That makes it even worse!" To be jealous of someone who could've been a friend I wanted, yes, it was a pity.

Itachi was appropriately bewildered; he stared, eyes wider than usual, at me, his brain working behind those eyes to find a solution. I frowned down the hallway; the tap was gushing water like no tomorrow. What the heck was Shisui doing in there?

"Shisui is a nice person. You should give him a chance," stated Itachi calmly. "He's not as different from you as you'd think."

"You've got to be specific, Chi." I rolled my eyes. Trust Itachi to be socially inept even when he was trying to introduce me to new friends.

"He's an orphan. And, some people look at him … coldly. Not acknowledging him." Now that _did_ sound familiar. Though the basis of such treatment would differ. Seeing as Uchiha rarely let their children wander into the village, especially in current times, I suspect it was the Uchiha themselves treating Shisui that way.

"Bastard child?" I suggested, through the rush of water. Shisui was going to cough up cash for the water bill if this persisted. Then again, I was grateful he wasn't interrupting our conversation. "Mother's a whore?"

" _Don't be crude_." I shrugged away Itachi's immediate reprimand; a reflex from the familiar routine where he chided and I ignored. I was more surprised by his use of my native tongue. While he'd been learning for at least four years, and I had given a crudely drawn and written guidebook about grammar and spelling (I had nothing to do as a toddler, _okay_?), I didn't think he actually took me seriously. He'd never asked me where the language came from. For Itachi, this was definitely odd. But I wasn't going to prompt him to ask, that was a subject best left alone. "But half credit, Mirai. His mother was a renowned kunoichi of the Uchiha Clan."

I choked on my saliva, eyes widening. "What?!" I quickly lowered my voice. "I mean—his last name's Uchiha, isn't it?"

"He belongs to the clan, so he took on his mother's family name, which is also worth more than his father's I suppose," Itachi explained, expression ruminative. "I didn't get the full details but the love was one-sided on his mother's part. His father refused his mother's offer to marry into the clan—not that the clan would've allowed it."

It should've been delivered in a tone dripping of sympathy or some emotion other than a flat deadpan Itachi was serving. Trust Itachi to make a scandal as boring as history. I was privately glad: had Itachi spoke empathetically, it would've been like he was trying to sell me some sob story. This was more like Itachi; pragmatic, speaking as a third unaffected, nonjudgmental party, allowing others to judge by their own credit.

"Huh. He must've gotten tons of shit for that. That explains why my attitude slid off him like water off a duck's butt." I chuckled drily, leaning against the wall, regret stinging me like a wasp.

The Uchiha heir continued placidly, "I thought there was similarity in your family situation."

I could've strangled Itachi. I shot him an austere look. "My father wasn't anything like his! The difference is like the dissimilarity between the sky and earth."

Itachi's gaze threaded my own, as surely as our spiritual energies twinned. Relief, I felt relief on his end: _he still loves the Yondaime, that's—_ "How is me resenting my father or loving him any business of yours?"

Itachi didn't even bat an eyelash, still cool. "The similarity I meant is the humble roots Yondaime-sama came from; your grandparents were fishermen and farmers. Furthermore, the status of an illegitimate child—with your tendency to read people's minds so perfectly, one can safely draw the conclusion of a relation with the Yamanaka clan. Your father is blonde, a common trait of the Yamanaka's."

That was Itachi's subtle way of fishing for information.

"You're easy to read, that's all," I informed him in clipped tones. I strode down the hallway and banged my fists on my bathroom door. "Oi, we're done talking, you can come out now!"

The tap squeaked shut, the door opened, Shisui looked out sheepishly. "I thought I'd give you some time alone," he reasoned, stepping out so I could enter.

My eyes lingered on his face—strong jaw, prominent nose, sharp-eyed, long lashes—and wondered which of his features had come from his father.

If he was the splitting image of his old man like I was, then I really felt sorry for him. I looked away quickly to look upon my safe, porcelain sink that reminded me of Obito cornering me in here so long ago, heartbroken about Rin.

In a low grumble, "You go to the dining room first. Rin's yakiniku is tastier when it's still hot."

Shisui looked pleasantly surprised. His grin allowed his un-Uchiha traits to bleed through: his nose probably didn't come from his mother. They don't make noses like that in the Uchiha Patented Factory (which was famed for producing people with cheekbones in perfect symmetry). At least it was dead center and fit in with the rest of his features; you couldn't exactly say he looked bad or boring.

"Sure!" He clapped Itachi on the back and sauntered off. I heard his loud voice offering to help Rin.

"Don't smirk," I huffed, cheeks heating up when I saw Itachi. And his stupid smug face.

"I _don't_ smirk."

Looking into the mirror, I saw Itachi's mouth curving into a _smirk_.

(I looked away but I think he saw my smile, too)

 **~{X}~**

"Morning, Mirai-kun!" sang Uchiha Shisui, practically waltzing into the classroom. His exuberance sapped away at my limited energy. A good night's rest since yesterday had replenished the energy he'd lost in our little game.

"… Get out of my face."

Possibly not wanting a repeat of our first meeting, Shisui wisely backed off and sat down beside me, leaving Itachi to plop down on his other side. "He's so cold," whispered Shisui. His version of a whisper was positively on the volume of a shout. "Are you really sure he wants to be friends?"

"Death changes people, Shisui," said Itachi patiently. He wasn't reading today; I could feel his eyes on me, not intrusive, just staring.

"It varies for everyone," I inputted, recalling how even after killing his family, Itachi's loyalty towards Konoha had not changed. Was there even a smidgen of bitterness? No, I doubt St. Itachi knew the meaning of hatred. I nearly sneered. "Maybe it won't affect either of you at all."

"Both of you are right," Shisui declared generously from between us. Smiling, ever-smiling. Did he not stop? What would it take to wipe that grin off? A punch? Somehow, I could imagine him grinning through the blood. "My dad's death didn't affect me, my mom's did."

"You brought them up yourself, don't slobber on me now." I was just joking though I came off sounding sarcastic, Shisui got the gist of what I was saying: _please_ _don't cry._

"Yeah, well," Shisui rubbed his palms together. I glimpsed thick, sunken calluses on his young hands. "Moving on—have you two thought about your teammates?"

"I already know who they are, the Hokage told me." I examined my teammate under the pretense of checking the room's interior design. Uchiha Naori's purple hair was brushing her shoulders, her back was facing me. She was quiet, not interacting with anyone, and her classmates gave her a wide berth—though not as huge as the berth they gave me.

"Who?"

"That girl," I pointed at their cousin, spotting the surprised expressions. "Care to tell me more about her?"

"The both of us are half-Uchiha so I know her pretty well, yeah," said Shisui helpfully. "Her mother was some noble girl who married into the clan, hence the purple hair. She's nice but she has a hard time looking at tall people. If you're too much taller than her, she'll look away and refuse to talk."

We aren't even a team yet and we already are a disaster. Was it even … safe … to put us together? Unhealthy behavior only fed sickness.

"What's her problem?"

"She's been like that for as long as I've known her!" chirped Shisui. "And she has lots of imaginary friends. Like I said, she's really friendly."

"With voices in her head," I said, realizing that it was not that different from what I had with Yagiza. "Cool." I approved of Naori.

"You've never spoken to her and you already declare her cool." Shisui pouted, crossing his arms. "You hated me when we first met."

"I still do," I said even though my mouth betrayed me by curling at the corners into a passable smile.

Before Shisui could respond, the same deadbeat chūnin from yesterday entered the class. His appearance automatically reminded me of how I'd grinded Mizuki into the ground; I looked into said boy's direction. He stiffened when he sensed my ire but he did not turn. The medics at the Hospital Wing had done their job perfectly: there were no bruises or bandages on him. Pity I hadn't incurred lasting damages onto him.

"Settle down, kids," he droned in such a lazy, out-of-it voice that it made me wonder if he knew what he was talking about himself. "I'll announce your team placements—nothing to get excited about, I assure you. Most of you will end up hating your teammates' guts."

Shisui snorted quietly. "How inspiring…"

"Shh." Itachi touched his arm to indicate silence.

"… Team 1 consists of Akimichi Maruten, Mizuki and Hyūga Natsu." I spotted a fatty with pink cheeks; he'd stopped tearing into his pork bun to look at his teammates. Hyūga Natsu was easy to spot: the pupilles Byakugan and dark green hair cut hime-style completed a delicately structured face.

I dimly noted this class seemed to have a lot of half-blood clan members: I was a half-Uzumaki, Shisui and Naori were half-Uchiha and Natsu was a half-Hyūga. And there was the tallest boy in class who was only a quarter Aburame. This was basically illegal; in the olden days, you _don't_ marry non-clan members.

"Team 4," continued the deadbeat, "Uchiha Shisui," the boy beside me fidgeted so violently he rocked into me and Itachi. I elbowed him roughly. He yelped, nearly drowning what the chūnin was saying, "… and Shin."

"Did you hear the second teammate's name?" asked Shisui anxiously, craning his neck to look. He didn't belong to this graduating class either. "I didn't hear. Who's this Shin anyway?"

"Shisui-kun, your jōnin-sensei won't be picking you up; he dropped a note asking you to head to Training Ground 24."

Shisui saluted. "I'm on my way." The chūnin rolled his eyes, waving him away and continued rattling off names he probably wouldn't even remember. "Catch ya later." He winked at us before body-flickering away.

"Show-off," I grumbled, closing the empty space by moving closer to Itachi. The Uchiha heir was the picture of relaxation: he leaned back in his chair, expression impassive, eyes half-lidded.

"Team 7," I tensed, hair on my arms bristling, and true enough—"Namikaze … Mirai. Tsk. Uchiha Naori and Tenzō. Your jōnin-sensei will meet you at the Hokage Tower's rooftop. Now, get out." he was staring straight at me when he said 'get out' so, of course, I dawdled and waited for Naori to pass through my aisle before following.

"Team 13," continued Deadbeat in clipped tones as I dragged my feet, "Uzuki Yūgao, Umino Iruka and Uchiha Itachi."

I noticed a lot of U's in that team's name. I could nickname them Team U in English. Giving Itachi one last, swift smile, I followed Naori out of the class.

"Naori-san!" The purple-haired girl, perhaps an inch taller and a year older than I was, paused in the hallway, glancing back at me curiously. We'd never spoken before but— "Look, we've got to clear up a few things in our team dynamics before we actually meet the spy. The threat to our existence."

Okay, I might be coming off as a dramatic kid, but the more aware she was of the situation, the better. Naori could gain the Sharingan someday and Tenzō—Yamato, whatever he was called now—might just claw her eyes out: I wasn't cruel enough to let that happen. Even if she didn't have the Sharingan, Naori was a woman, a potential breeding machine. And that was just too cruel a fate to inflict upon her.

"I've heard about you," said Naori immediately.

I rolled my eyes. "I'm sure any kid old enough to speak knows me."

"Shisui told me more about you, the real you," she clarified, smiling softly. "Did he mention me? He certainly talks a lot about you."

"No doubt about the similarity Itachi already notified me about," I said. Paused. And I studied her closely. There was no animosity in her eyes and I felt myself relax; maybe this wouldn't be hard as I imagined it to be.

Naori furrowed her brows slightly. "I'm pretty sure that's not it…"

I held up a hand to halt the topic of Shisui. "Anyway, back to our team dynamics—the third guy who's not a student here," I inserted another pause to check if I really had her attention. She nodded imploringly for me to continue so I did, "He's a spy from a bastard Shimura Danzō, a member of Konoha's ROOT ANBU. Illegal group that does not answer directly to the Hokage, will harm us if Danzō gives the word. He is _very_ dangerous with his Mokuton that can subdue the Kyūbi; we must always be on guard around him. Are—you— _understood_?"

Somehow in my moment of boiling angry passion, I'd seized Naori's shoulders to shake the point into her hopefully not-so-empty skull. Her smile, while friendly, had a dreamy quality that did not give me confidence about her wit and awareness.

Naori blinked languidly—one eye after the other, creating a disconcerting affect. Was she purposely trying to spook me? At least she hadn't started spewing nonsense about her imaginary friends.

"Yes," she finally said. "Thank you for your concern." She cocked her head to the side, contemplating. "That … is what you're trying to convey, yes? Your concern for me, your new teammate."

I was momentarily flummoxed: how long had it been since a complete stranger took what I said to heart completely? My grip slackened as I nodded mutely but that just made her smile broaden.

"You're kind, for a demon." And I recoiled from her like she was a scalding kettle full of hot water. "I mean no offense!" she cried hurriedly, slightly alarmed, arm flying forward to grasp my wrist. "I just … I was merely making an observation. Your character contradicts what I have been told."

"Don't listen to them. Your age excuses you though," I allowed, not at all affronted. "But know this, Naori, everyone in this world is a liar. Whether it is an exaggerated truth, an omitted statement, everyone lies at one point. And they won't stop at just one lie."

" _You_ are my age." Her black eyes, like volcano rocks, softened in pity. "Yet you are so mistrustful."

"I'm _perceptive_ ," I stressed the word, wrist twisting in her loose grip. Instead of letting me go, she held on and I figured I'd let her off the hook for this.

A comfortable silence had covered up and I wasn't averse to it; I might actually like her company. But then, she spoke, "What's your favorite color?"

"… _Huh_?"

Naori smiled her dimpled smile that further accentuated her loveliness. "I want to know."

Getting over my initial surprise, I said, "It's—I'm partial to purple."

"Favorite food?" she continued to ask.

"Medamayaki and inarizushi; or anything Rin cooks really."

Naori's smile broadened. "Me too, I like medamayaki. What do you think about tea ceremonies?"

We had established pretty solid groundwork for our relationship as friends by the time we reached our destination. The woman waiting with the ROOT spy Tenzō was unfamiliar to me; clad beneath her jōnin vest was a gray-themed kimono gar, which meant she was our jōnin teacher. She had very delicate features set upon an oval-shaped head that was framed by dark silver hair; delicately oblique brows framed light brown eyes.

The boy straightened to attention when he saw us approaching.

"Just on time," remarked the woman, taking me by surprise with the blooming smile on her face. She looked to be about Kushina's age. It was impossible to tell a kunoichi's marital status as they rarely, if ever, wore wedding bands. I watched them carefully, jaw clenched slightly. "I'm Kurama Uroko, your jōnin-sensei from today onward. Please address me as Uroko-sensei or simply Sensei."

Naori offered her a polite smile—a smile that her aristocrat-educated mother had instilled upon her, regardless of what the Uchiha said about maintaining a professional demeanor during jobs. "My name is Uchiha Naori, and I look forward to working with all of you."

"Namikaze Mirai," I introduced in clipped tones. The boy, about twelve or thirteen, opened his mouth to speak but I cut across him, "Try anything funny and you're going to pay, Yamato."

He blinked. "It's Tenzō …"

"Whatever."

Kurama Uroko frowned at the display. "Mirai-kun," she said reprovingly, "You are being extremely rude."

"He's a spy from Danzō!" I hissed defensively, edging away from the older boy, pushing Naori behind me for extra defense. "Unless … unless you're on his side. Without the Hokage's knowing, you're already in Danzō's back pocket?" I gasped dramatically.

"I think you're leaping to wrong conclusions, Mirai-kun," whispered Naori, tugging on my shirt.

Uroko rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "While it's good to see you're always on your toes, I would appreciate if you do not accuse me of allegiances. I'm solely loyal to Sandaime-sama and my clan. Ultimately, my job here is to coach all of you into formidable shinobi and kunoichi. Please, take a sit and we'll talk."

Naori and I plopped down six feet away from Yamato. If the boy was hurt by this treatment, his face did not show a dot of emotion. Uroko sighed slightly when she noticed the distance but did not press the issue: she most likely wasn't chosen to make sure we become a well-oiled working machine together. She was here to ensure Naori and I _flourish_. And Yamato was the unsightly blemish we all had to suffer through.

"Can anyone tell me what this team will specialize in?" Her brown eyes swept across us.

"Genjutsu?" suggested Naori. "Mirai-kun's the best when it comes to shrugging off genjutsu and I'm well-versed in genjutsu, too."

"I'm _immune_ to genjutsu," I corrected her, scoffing. My eyes slid to Yamato. "He's a Mokuton-user, so he'll be good at ninjutsu."

"I'm not terrible when it comes to genjutsu," Yamato countered, voice soft, not hostile in the least. "I'm sure, with a little work on my part, we'll dominate as a genjutsu-specialized team."

I snorted. "Firstly, there's no _we_. There's only me and her," a sneer on my part, "and _you_." I made sure 'you' sounded like the worst insult there could possibly be when it came to us.

Yamato's brows furrowed into a line of contemplation. I hoped he got the hint he was _not_ wanted here.

Uroko's eyebrow twitched but she chose to brush my rudeness off. "Well, yes. My clan—and I, by extension—specialize in genjutsu. I'm confident I can coach all of you to become genjutsu-masters, granted you have the affinity for it."

"Surely genjutsu won't be the only thing you're going to teach us," Naori demurred.

Uroko smiled dryly. "Of course not. I'm a qualified jōnin; and jōnin are versed in the three main aspects of the shinobi arts. Though I have to be honest, this is my first time as a jōnin teacher and I have no prior experience, except for the times I've coached my younger brothers." She paused, clapped her hands together as if an idea had just struck her and she must let it be shown. "How about … a brief evaluation of your skills?"

"Evaluation? You don't mean the secret test?"

"The jōnin sensei can choose not to give it and pass you right away," explained Uroko patiently. "And clearly, this team is not one to be failed regardless of whatever reason." Her eyes flickered minutely to Yamato, then to me: she knew what was going on but she was not about to let it bother her. "And I'm gaining something from taking on this team, too."

"What's the benefit you can reap?" I wondered.

Uroko looked me in the eye, appraisingly, curiously. "You."

 **~{X}~**

* * *

I've read lots of stories where, if the OC is a jinchuuriki or somehow has the ability to meet the Kyubi, they become fast friends because the OC knows the beast's backstory and is accepting of it, technically replacing Naruto. The relationship between Mirai and Kurama will be an antagonistic one - grudging, secret respect, but no friendship or camaraderie as much as you-do-this-for-me-i'll-do-this-for-you.

Naori and Uroko are both canon characters by the way though they only appear in the anime-fillers.

 **R &R**


	11. Chapter 11

**11\. True Nature**

"Uh … you're far from my type." I blinked, dumbfounded. "How _old_ are you anyway?"

Uroko laughed. "You'll understand later," she assured me, mouth curved upwards, as she motioned for us to follow her. "Let's head to the training ground I'd reserved for our team."

I was on edge for the rest of the team meeting. My teacher and female teammate were pleasant and better than I could've hoped for; Yamato was a blemish on this otherwise perfect team, and I was content to pretend he was worth nothing in my eyes.

Every chance I got, I needled and toyed with him, throwing dark hints about what made him so unwelcomed and unsatisfactory. Yamato barely reacted but I still felt satisfied; the brief link between our minds hinted annoyance at me.

Uroko tested our resilience when it came to resisting genjutsu and casting a basic genjutsu—I dominated that area, Naori not far behind.

She called for a spar: Yamato kicked butt: I hated his guts.

And I found out I was extremely far behind in ninjutsu. I was so bad I had to stay behind while Uroko dismissed the other two. "Good luck!" sang Naori happily, waving before she skipped away. I couldn't properly respond as I was still reeling in shock at my abysmal ninjutsu skills—my repertoire of which consisted only of Kawarimi. (By the way, Yamato had Shunshin'd away without another word, face as impassive as the beginning of the meeting.)

It was afternoon—as we'd met up in the early morning—and the sun was starting to peek through the winter clouds.

"Do you know your chakra nature?"

"No."

Uroko handed me the small, square-shaped paper as if she'd expected the answer all along. I accepted it with a pursed mouth, channeling my chakra into it. My frown deepened when the paper remained smooth and unblemished.

"I've read your file," Uroko spoke casually, "and I'll be honest, _you're_ the only reason why I even agreed to become a jōnin teacher."

"Look, lady, I don't have the time for a love confession, can't you see I'm busy—?" I snapped but she held up a hand to interrupt.

"Listen, be patient," she intoned, ignoring my attempt at humor. I huffed, continuing to puzzle over the paper, listening only halfheartedly. "I have a daughter, about four years younger than you are now, and her situation from birth was extremely similar to yours—frail to the point of being crippled, all because of the lack of physical energy."

I finally looked at Uroko, a tingling sensation spreading down my spine. Could this girl be like me? A reincarnated soul? My heartbeat picked up speed at the very thought.

"Seriously? And… you want my help or something?"

Uroko nodded vaguely. "That's the gist of it. Obviously, you got over the disability somewhat. We'll get to that later." She sat on the grassy ground, back against the trunk. "The only reason my daughter was born that way is because of our clan's kekkei genkai. It's genjutsu-based and it's powerful enough to bend illusion into reality: the enormous spiritual energy she's been born with enables her to utilize our clan's prized kekkei genkai, the drawback is the lack of physical energy, thus the disability to match up to an average shinobi."

"I don't have that ability to bend reality," I found the need to point out. I siphoned my spiritual energy and materialized it, creating the images of a swarm of butterflies for Uroko to observe before dispelling the hologram. "The most I can make are these: holograms, mirages, whatever you want to call them. You can't touch them but you can see them as if they're real."

Uroko did not look surprised. "That is the basis of our kekkei genkai too. But you are clearly not a descendant of my clan. You're a different but almost similar case. The help I require from you is, well, encouragement. Perhaps you can help my daughter in ways I cannot: you can empathize with her, you can tutor her … maybe?" She gauged me carefully for my reaction.

"Depends if I ever get competent enough," I returned lightly, noncommittally. _How well you teach me is how well I'll be able to teach your daughter,_ rang unsaid at the end of my response, but Uroko's eyes narrowed shrewdly upon me; she got the message.

She nodded, anyway, satisfied. "I see you're not able to tell your chakra nature."

"If I were to go by genes' factorizing into the chakra nature we get, I'll say I'm a fūton-user—both my parents are fūton—" I broke off. "Were. They _were_."

Uroko's right arm jerked like she wanted to reach over and hug me but thought better of it. "From what your file says, you're still experiencing imbalance in the ratio of your inner energies; you just have enough physical energy to barely cut the requirements of a shinobi's lifestyle."

"Thanks," I muttered sarcastically. I waved the empty paper in her face. "Care to explain why this happened?"

She smiled benignly. "Simple. Allow me to explain: chakra is a mixture of the inner energies. Each person has a different chakra nature, but what we call chakra nature is a diverse term. To clarify, everyone is born with a certain type of chakra whose compositions are similar to the five natures. Thick and dense, like the earth so it's known as doton; weightless and cool embodies the wind, fūton; fluid and liquidly represents is likened to water, thus the term suiton."

"I've heard all that in class, lady," I murmured, but there was no denying she had garnered my interest.

Uroko continued calmly, "Spiritual energy gifts the chakra composition with properties associated with the five elemental natures; how it does so is through the use of your imagination. For example, you know instinctively real fire is hot, your mind knows this and thus, your spiritual energy which is a product of your mind, will spin heat into your chakra. Physical energy gives chakra a definable shape and makes it tangible physically so it could hurt: katon looks like real fire as a result, and with the same properties once you mix the inner energies together."

She noticed my surprise and arched a brow. "You did not think humans are capable of creating fire from within, did you? We would've died with the amount of inhaled smoke." I nearly smiled at her dry humor. "Now," she looked at me, "Do you know why the paper did not respond to you?"

Ah, so she was this sort of teacher. She wouldn't give you a direct answer; she'd make you rack your brains and puzzle out the answer for yourself. I wasn't sure if I liked this method of teaching but I did jog my brain.

"My spiritual energy is overwhelming," I started slowly, crinkling the paper slightly in my grip, "so it's what flows into the paper; there's only the property of a nature which this paper can't detect. There's not enough physical energy for a proper shape to manifest. A question," I said abruptly.

Uroko nodded. "Go on."

"How does this chakra paper know what to show? Sure it's sensitive chakra, but—"

"Ah, Mirai," said Uroko in a wise tone that rubbed me the wrong way. I hated the impression that I was stupider than someone, regardless of whom. "The paper is not sensitive to chakra; it is special _because_ it emphasizes the physical manifestation of chakra composition. The moment someone's chakra is channeled into the paper, the paper will make someone extremely aware of the composition they feel in the paper, thus the students' own imagination formed distinctive traits: paper crinkled by electricity, wet paper, etc. Before you use it, a teacher—in Konoha at least—will always tell you what you should expect. That is why the results yielded in Konoha are always among the four states you can find your paper in. I assume the results you can find are different in another shinobi village."

I nodded slowly. I got what she was trying to say … but … I turned the paper over in my hand. Excitement was doing cartwheels in my stomach for a reason.

"Sensei, is it possible to separate physical and spiritual energy manually?" I inquired.

"No, as you grow older, they become inseparable, too intertwined so to speak; infants are a different matter. Why?" Uroko cocked a brow.

"Must fire always be hot?" I wondered, more to myself than to her. "Come on! It's only because we _think_ fire is hot that the katon jutsu we perform is hot. If the mind can separate the spiritual energy from the physical energy long enough to alter the property—"

"That, and because your mind cannot deny it," interceded Uroko simply. "Fire is hot; it's a matter of fact. Humans are limited to their imaginations, Mirai, as the Yamanaka Clan likes to say."

My limbs quivered; my whole body was shaking in excitement actually. Uroko noticed, of course, and she frowned in concern. "Mirai-kun? Are you alright?"

"I've got stuff to do … I need paper and pen … gotta write down my idea …" I didn't care to wait for her dismissal, speeding back home right away. Rin wasn't home but I barely noticed after a ten-minute run back to our shared apartment.

I entered my room and made my way to my desk. I was glad I was always ready to be struck by inspiration: a paper and neatly sharpened pencil were waiting for me. My handwriting became uglier as my excitement brewed, clearly visible through the scribbles in English letters.

I was going to have test my theory out.

…

..

.

Yagiza stood a distance away in the clearing I favored often. The sunset crested over a distant hill, about to fall into night, but I barely paid any attention to nature as I squinted at the scroll in my lap. "I think I've got it down. For now, I best rely on hand seals." I could've been speaking to myself or Yagiza, whichever case, I was talking to myself. Exactly like a crazy person would.

I styled my fingers into the hand seal of Tori, feeling my chakra respond.

Yagiza was my target.

My spiritual energy was easily discernable within me, already taking on the properties of wind as I'd expected it to: light, airy but deadly when it was sharpened by imagination. Wind should be the easiest as only a portion of physical energy was needed to make it tangible enough to hurt enemies: furthermore, wind was colorless and marginally shapeless, so there would not be physical energy wasted on coloring it, unlike with katon jutsu.

I shifted in my crouch, knee purposefully bumping against the steaming kettle I'd stolen from Rin's kitchen. The heat that seared me was enough to make me cry out in pain. I hurriedly lurched away but the heat remained, stinging me like persistent wasps. Tears built behind squeezed eyelids.

All I could think of was heat, hot, burning—

I unleashed the jutsu, expelling chakra from my mouth. And it nearly burned my lips and the roof of my tongue. I cringed away from the spew of colorless chakra but my eyes remained fixated on it; my chakra touched upon the grass and … nothing.

Yagiza and I stared blankly at the spot. Heck, even if I failed to apply the property of heat, it should've been cut in half or something.

I pursed my lip in displeasure at this failure. I thought I had felt heat as the chakra was expelled from my mouth. I approached the patch of grass where my chakra had hit and dissipated. I blinked at the sensation I felt when my palm touched the grass.

It was hot. As if I had pressed a recently boiled kettle on it.

That meant my theory worked. But it didn't set the grass on fire—why? I patted the patch of grass as I mulled it over.

Come to think of it, the anime didn't show anyone being burnt to crisps—the fire was more like a long-distance punch than a scorching experience for the victim. Of course I could attribute it to anime physics and the animators not wanting anything particularly gruesome, but—what if the reason katon jutsu cast by certain people didn't hurt because their concentration of spiritual energy was low?

Or because the katon users had _never_ been scorched by real fire and thus couldn't replicate the heat and hurt real fire could inflict in their jutsu?

I bent a long blade of grass in between my fingers.

I wasn't into self-immolation or self-mutilation but … as they say—no pain, no gain.

It was worth a try.

…

(No pain, no gain.)

…

"How on earth did you get _burns and frostbites_ from practicing a fūton jutsu?" asked Rin incredulously as she patched me up four hours later after I'd made my way back home through tears. I was killing the rest of my sniffles so I was slow to respond.

"Practice," I demurred, hiccupping over a sob. It really, really _hurts_ to be burned and frozen at the same time in different parts of my body, _okay_? It was perfectly justified for a seven-year-old like me to be bawling about it.

Rin narrowed her eyes slightly. "Oh, don't play coy with me. Are you going to tell me or do I have to watch you day and night to catch you at it?"

I stared at her. "You'll be stalking me?"

"How is that stalking?" she retorted laughingly.

I smiled a watery smile at her. "I wasn't lying," I said honestly. "Uroko-sensei lectured me about my, ah, difference from my teammates. Ninjutsu will be different for me."

"Too little physical energy to make chakra tangible enough?" Rin fussed, worried.

"Fūton jutsu works for me," I assured her, squeezing her hand reassuringly. I liked her hands; they were soft and not as callused, long-boned but not weak, comforting and warm. "Because wind doesn't use up as much physical energy. I was just experimenting with my spiritual energy. I can detach it manually from the point of coalescence."

Rin gave me a blank stare. Trying not to snort at her expense, I elaborated, "It means that to me, the property of a certain element isn't so _defined_. I can force myself to think about a different property, like heat, and force it upon my chakra composition: wind, hot enough to set something on fire."

Rin needed some time to process that. But she was smart enough to grasp the concept relatively quickly. "That means … if you blow air, you might wet something or electrocute someone instead of slicing the target in half?"

I nodded. "That's the basis I'm working on. I haven't experimented with much yet. I've gone for heat and ice today."

"The burns and frostbites," Rin realized thoughtfully. A look of dazed disbelief and amazement settled upon her features once more. "That's … did you succeed?"

I grimaced sheepishly. "I accidentally froze Yagiza's right arm…?"

Yagiza had been very helpful. He had held the butt of a burning cigarette onto my skin, hence the spots like I've got chickenpox, burning me through, for the feel of heat; he procured (stolen) chunks of ice to dump into a bucket where I stood in to get a proper grasp on what cold was to apply to my jutsu.

It would take a lot of practice to be able to easily visualize wind to be icy cold to the point of freezing something as easily as hyōton-jutsu could. More time if I wanted to make fire _ice-cold_ or electrifying. Those were in my future plans but I planned to work on altering the properties of fūton jutsu into the other nature types first.

Rin laughed and kissed my forehead. "My little genius," she branded the words against the skin of my forehead.

I sighed contentedly.

 **~{XI}~**

Over the course of one year, we settled into a familiar pattern.

True to my prediction, Yamato served less as a teammate than Uroko's assistant. If Uroko focused on either me or Naori, she would ask Yamato to entertain the remaining student by sparring, allowing him to correct us. For a first-timer, Uroko wasn't a bad teacher. She procured ninjutsu and genjutsu scrolls to teach us and honed our taijutsu.

Then we did missions together.

Missions changed everything.

"Can't we please do delivery instead of babysitting?" I groaned on the fourth day of D-ranks. I surreptitiously glanced sideways at Yamato who had thus far been tame and quiet. He was ANBU, was he not offended to be doing something so degrading?

"Babysitting pays more generously," said Uroko by way of explanation. She handed Naori the address of our client. "I trust you know how to complete the mission without my supervision."

"Where are you going?" I asked.

"My daughter's ill, Mirai-kun."

I nodded empathetically, watching her go. "Yakumo-chan is cute," murmured Naori to me. "I've seen her and Sensei in the marketplace before."

"Kids are cute until you get to know them better," I said, snorting.

She smiled mildly. "Speaking from experience, Mirai-kun?"

"That's what Obito used to say about me anyway." My chuckle was quickly smothered once we stepped out of the Hokage Tower and into the bustling streets. Even though the villager seemed busy on first glance, they somehow _always_ noticed me.

The glares, hisses, loathing rippled through the crowd: all eyes were on us, wary and hateful. My smile tightened and fell, replaced by a scowl. Naori stepped closer to me. I appreciated her silent show of support; what didn't make sense was that Yamato fell into step on my other side too. Tch.

I quickened our pace, nearly running to our designated area.

I grimaced when the client—a woman done up in elaborate, artificial make-up and expensive kimono silk robes that was as expensive as my electric bill—opened the door. Her eyes riveted to me calculatingly, her honey-colored eyes somehow flashed a cold, gold color.

I couldn't bite back a groan when I saw more than a dozen kids: a birthday party, it would seem. Why the heck were we asked to babysit birthday parties?

"It's because that boy is the Daimyō's grandnephew." I blinked at Yamato when he answered my rhetorical question. Naori had been called off to help with preparing meals. He further elaborated, "The Daimyō's spare heir if his grandson doesn't make it through winter this year – he has a frail health. They are worried about kidnapping attempts."

"Ah, I see." I rubbed the back of my neck, frowning in thought. My eyes were on the group of children converging in the backyard, about to engage in physical games that I had never bothered with even as a child. Come to think of it, this was the first time we were in close vicinity without trading barbs. Before I could say more, the Daimyō's grandnephew waved his arms wildly at us.

He—I think the kid's name was Syūhei—was pointing at me. Yamato nudged me forward; I went towards them. I don't think the kids were too impressed about their bodyguards for the evening, since I was younger than half of them and barely older than the youngest kids here.

"We're going to play a game," announced Syūhei.

"And that concerns me because…?"

Syūhei's smile was positively filled with malice. He easily towered over me since he was ten or eleven. His age made it more prominent that he had the marks of a boy who would grow up into a handsome man; someday, his tousled dark hair and smoldering green eyes would snag girls off the streets faster than kidnappers. "Why," he drew the word out, "I thought a kid like you would want to play too!"

"No," I shot him down flatly.

"We hired you for today," said Syūhei.

"And that doesn't sound dirty at all," I huffed, turning away. "I can't play while I'm on a job." Something flew across the air: I sidestepped it away, blinked and stared down at the egg yolk oozing into the grass. Someone just threw an egg in my direction. I rounded on the brats. "What the—?!"

"You're not supposed to dodge," Syūhei's sidekick, a burly boy I didn't hear the name of, said, "It's hit-the-demon game."

I balled my fists as anger surged like a rearing lion ready to pounce. "I'm not—! You can't do that!"

"On the contrary," drawled Syūhei so smugly I wanted to kill him here and now, "I can. I'm the Daimyō's grandnephew, his heir."

"His spare heir," I snapped.

"Yukinami ain't going to last the year," sneered Syūhei, unmoved by my argument. "You're speaking to the future Daimyō of Hi no Kuni. You should start showing me respect before you really piss me off; as the Daimyō, I'll have quite the say in the matters of this village."

"You want to drain Konoha of its income? Sure, go ahead." I couldn't have wanted it any better myself.

"Suit yourself. Now stay still."

"Which part of—!?"

"Babysitting, bodyguard, whatever is in your mission scroll, it entails keeping us physically safe and emotionally secure."

"That's preposterous," I spat.

Syūhei moved faster than I thought he could, perhaps hinting at some shinobi training. I stepped away but his lackeys closed in, cutting off escape routes. I did not run; I scowled as he snagged my collar and hauled me forward. Hazel-gold flecked the emerald of his eyes, upon closer inspection. "What's preposterous is my order being ignored. How insolent can you get?" He shook me.

I opened my mouth to retort but something cracked against me. Something small, not big enough to injure the back of my skull; cold liquid trickled down my hair and neck. Sniggers broke out among them.

I was so stunned that I allowed the rotten tomatoes to splatter on my shirt without resistance.

They … these brats actually … they actually _attacked_ me?!

My body quaked with fury; intent to kill in every tensed line of my body. Killing intent reeked from me in colossal waves and just as I lunged, fingers hooked, a brown blur collided with my arm, knocking the attack directed at Syūhei away: Yamato came to stand in front of me, arms outstretched, the eggs and tomatoes splattering against the front of his ANBU-like vest.

Disbelief stunned me speechless once more. Yamato … the quiet boy I'd often needled … was defending me?

Syūhei arched a brow.

"It's true that you're the objective of the mission," spoke Yamato in his soft voice that never failed to garner listeners either way, "But we are shinobi of Konoha. You will find that it's within protocol to retaliate when we are under attack. Even if the assailants are noble's children and the weapons are rotten produce."

"If you hurt us, our parents will cut off the supply of money!" piped up a younger child.

"I can barely care less!" I snarled, fingers still hooked like claws to rip their eyeballs out—starting to Syūhei. "Step aside, Yamato!"

"No. We are shinobi of Konoha," Yamato directed at Syūhei and the children, still calm and unperturbed, "You will find we always compensate our losses. It's fine if our next Daimyō does not favor us. We will simply find another Daimyō who can."

 _We will arrange an accident for the Daimyō that does not favor us; we will secure the trust of the next Daimyō of Hi no Kuni._

Syūhei saw through the thinly veiled threat; his eyes narrowed. Behind those cruel eyes, I knew he was intelligent and logical. He stepped down; a tough feat as he wasn't used to not having his way. "Fine, back off. We'll play another game," he told the children, and they converged further away.

"Are you alright?" I blurted out, louder and nearly drowning out Yamato's voice asking the same question. "I'm fine. And …" I scowled through my blush, looking away, "Thank you."

"I was merely filling my role as a shinobi of Konoha. It is my duty to complete our mission objectives—which would never have been achieved had I just stood by. You would've severely harmed them, if not kill."

Yamato bringing it up reinforced the bitterness of my fury. I had to force my eyes to remain on Yamato, lest I continued to unleash KI and act on it. "Can you honestly blame me?" I demanded angrily.

"Shinobi endure," said Yamato simply.

I gritted my teeth. My previous feelings of goodwill towards him were quickly going down the drain. I stormed away. "I'm leaving," I snapped. "You don't have to divide the mission pay to accommodate me since I left the job halfway through."

Rin was not home when I head back; her shift at the hospital wasn't over around this time. Good. I didn't want to put up with her questions. I bathed, scrubbed my clothes to avoid more awkward questions and changed; a navy blue short-sleeved hoodie above the red threads of my spiritual energy and black three-quarters.

I actually had some free time.

What to do? Train some more? Summon Yagiza and set him on Syūhei?

I snorted inwardly at the last suggestion. Yagiza was anything but subtle; people would be able to trace him back to me.

I idly made my way to my usual training grounds, brooding and hurt and angry. Until I saw the Uchiha boy doodling on the ground with a stick in the clearing. I stared. "Shisui!" I said in surprise after a minute of gaping.

He turned, untamed hair as wild as ever, and his grin was as bright as the sun. The knot of hateful anger loosened slightly in my naval when I saw him. I wandered over to him, trying to decipher what he was writing, but with a few stomps, Shisui had erased it.

"Secret," he sang happily at my arched brow. "You have a day-off today?"

"I walked out on my team during a mission," I said blandly, crouching next to him as he started doodling something else.

"Why?" asked Shisui simply, not accusatory. I relaxed slightly, watching as Shisui drew the Uchiha crest into the dirt.

"My clients pissed me off and the job I was required to do was … it was out-of-bounds. Frustrating." I flexed my fingers angrily. Hikenshi rippled in the sunlight, wrapped entirely around my arms, obscuring any patch of skin. "Don't even say unprofessional in my presence."

"I won't," Shisui said loyally, now drawing his own face. Possibly because it was his own face, his drawing became very precise, neat and artful. "Did you come here to train on your lonesome self?"

"You're here," I pointed out drily. "Doing useless stuff. We might as well train—though sometimes I wonder why I even bother." I snorted at my expense.

"We train to be better shinobi!" was Shisui's enthusiastic answer. "So we can better serve the village! I want to be renowned someday. You think I can do it, Mirai?" His eyes fixed on my face for a sign of lie when I spoke.

"Yes, yes you'll be famous," I droned.

Shisui grinned as if that was what he'd been waiting to hear his whole life. "Thanks!"

We lapsed into silence where only the scratches of branch against dirt as Shisui started drawing my face, to my mortification. I erased what he'd drawn but he kept persisting until I gave up trying to stop him. "Ne, Shisui?"

"Hmm?"

"What do you think a shinobi is? My teammate—Yamato—he said shinobi are people who endure. Well, I think it's a stupid answer, one of the most foolish responses you can get because there are civilians who endure too, but does that make them shinobi? No! So it's stupid, you see?"

Shisui nodded thoughtfully. "Why didn't you tell him that?" he asked lightly.

I ran a hand through my dual-colored hair. "Because I have no better answer!" I cried. "Even then, I knew I couldn't answer the question myself: what is a shinobi? I dunno. The textbook answer is that shinobi are people who use jutsu and that's the stupid answer you'll get from Itachi who reads too much for his own good—"

"I think finding out what being a shinobi means is part of being a shinobi itself," interrupted Shisui. I was stumped: that sounded quite mature and wise. Since when was Shisui a deep person? I tried not to gape. He smiled faintly at my insulting expression. "I can't give you a correct answer."

"No," I managed to say, "but knowing your answer is satisfactory."

"Self-sacrifice without a price; a nameless shinobi who is willing to protect peace from within the shadows, that's what I believe to be the true mark of a shinobi."

"I think I'm going to be sick," I muttered at the blatant display of patriotism.

Shisui touched my shoulder, frowning. "Did you eat a bad egg today?"

I shrugged him off. "Have you gotten the Sharingan yet?" I asked sympathetically. Poor boy. I could still hope the awakening of his dōjutsu could make him see sense, right?

"No, but I have high hopes!" said Shisui brightly.

I nodded. "Me too." It was my turn to clasp his shoulder. He looked at my hand, bemused. "When you awaken your dōjutsu, I'm sure you'll be able to see more, understand more. Only then can you tell what is important, what will remain with you for the rest of your life instead of something so … diverse."

I swallowed thickly, fingernails cutting into the skin of my palms. What was I saying?

Family is the wiser choice? Canon Shisui should've picked his clan over his village? Pft. Like I've got proof that family is the better choice, that family is worth every innocent life that might be lost; my first life had proven that family cracked like eggshells when certain tribulations arose. But the village was so full of strangers—so many people who would be unappreciative of your sacrifice—that it was worth even _less_.

The warmth of Shisui's hand on my own drew me back to reality. "I know what's important to me," said Shisui, head cocked to the side, examining me curiously. He still hadn't stopped smiling. "My friends, my clan, my village. All are equally important."

I sneered faintly. "No, they're not."

"What do you mean?"

"Between a friend like you and the village as a whole, I would've picked you in a heartbeat. The village and my loved one is not equally important; the latter is more important than the other." I flicked his hand away, mildly embarrassed. "Just so you know."

I _wanted_ him to know. While we might've gotten off the wrong foot, he was my friend now. I know he was unfailingly loyal—as long as I was not detrimental to the village. I didn't want Shisui to be as tormented as I was by Minato: to always wonder if the village will overshadow me, and if push comes to shove, he'll sacrifice me.

(And somehow, I still resent Minato for that)

I won't. Shisui, Rin, Itachi, Naruto, Obito. Nothing compares to their lives.

I'm going to find Obito. I'm not going to protect my loved ones so obsessively; I know they can take care of themselves, there was no need for _'I'll protect you with my life'_ spiels. I will butcher anyone who so much as tugs out a hair on their head, no questions asked.

"You running a high fever or what?" I snapped at Shisui's flabbergasted expression. His face was reddening to an unhealthy point, as if all the blood in his body had rushed up to his brain. "Get up! We're going to train! You are going to be helping me perfect my jutsu."

Shisui had to be hauled to his feet. His legs must be cramped from crouching for who-knows-how long before I came to drag him around.

"Er, taijutsu only?"

"I want to work on my ninjutsu," I declined, "So let's use every weapon we have in our arsenal."

He smirked. "You asked for it!"

…

 _Inton: Reppūshō!_

Air compressed in my palms, I channeled my chakra's composition to influence the air surrounding me; the gale hurtled towards Shisui, freezing the area where he previously was: he'd Shunshin'd away.

A tug at the back of my mind; Shisui reappeared behind me. Hikenshi flared—braids of red—defensively and lashed at him, blocking a stab at my back. I twisted and my three-pronged kunai clashed with his.

"How is it fair that you never say what's the jutsu you're using?" whined Shisui playfully, pushing me back. His leg was a blur of motion as he kicked. The chakra armor that Hikenshi provided prevented me from bruising in my abdomen and negated most of the blow, but it still knocked the breath out of and made the contents of my stomach roll.

I was pushed back and Shisui pursued, slashing and hacking with precise strokes, not a wasted movement. He had a good teacher, I admitted grudgingly.

"It's not fair," I conceded as our blades shrieked against one another. "But I must have an edge. Anyway, who's your teacher? He's done a good job with you."

"He's a retired shinobi though he sure can damn well fight," grunted Shisui in agreement. "He's my grandfather's friend, genin teammate. Then, previously, he was my mother's jōnin sensei and squad commander." My blood iced over. "Shimura Danzō." He twisted and plunged his katana down.

I was unprepared, surprised as I was that Danzō was his teacher and _shit he'll be hurt_ , and his katana cut my cheek. I yelped at the stinging pain.

Shisui's eyes widened in alarm, stopping attacks altogether as he dropped his katana. "Are you okay?" he fussed, trying to stem the blood by pressing his thumb on the cut, straining the new injury and possibly infecting it—who knows where that finger has been?

"I'm fine," I grounded out, not bothering to push him away. I was still processing the newest bit of information. Was this canon? If so, then Danzō was even more of an asshole than I'd initially assumed him to be. To rip out the eye of your own student? Especially when teacher-student bonds were so prized in Konoha?

 _Danzō's going to hell in a hand basket if I've anything to say about it._

Shisui said, "Your guard suddenly dropped. What happened?"

"Nothing." My tone made it clear the topic was to not be breached.

"Okay," Shisui relented most easily and changed the topic (I love this kid): "How did you do that jutsu?" I blinked, prompting him to clarify, "That jutsu—you froze that area. See? Ice is still there. I thought you can't do that sort of jutsu without a kekkei genkai—do you have one?"

"No," I replied honestly. "That's just my spiritual energy altering the properties of my chakra composition—I mean, chakra nature." It would be tough to explain everything in detail because most shinobi, almost every shinobi, forgot the theory taught in classes during their Academy days the moment they began using chakra and jutsu, especially since they have no more need to know the theory to work the practical.

It was likely that Shisui wouldn't even remember about the chakra composition and how spiritual energy made his katon jutsu hot and enabled it to burn his targets into crisps.

Shisui furrowed his brows. "You can do that?"

"Only I can, I think, but yeah." I nodded decisively, wiping away the remaining flecks of blood. Rin would heal me later. "I'm one of a kind," I added smugly. "With me, fūton jutsu can be ice or fire."

"How do you do that?"

"I can separate my Yin energy and change the properties of my chakra. You people feel the composition of your chakra and if it's dense and thick, you automatically think of earth's properties and that's how your Yin energy will mold your chakra—to the qualities of the earth. Don't bother trying to replicate it with or without the Sharingan," I snorted, "Unless you can detach your Yin energy from the Yang to change it manually."

"… Hah?"

I chuckled, ruffling Shisui's hair. "Never mind," I allowed fondly. "Ready to continu—Naori!" I cocked a brow of surprise when I noticed my purple-haired teammate sauntering over to us.

"Sensei asked for you," she said the moment she was close enough. "We reported to her at the mission desk and after Yamato-kun told us what happened, she immediately asked for you. She told me to tell you, erm, you should go to the Kurama clan compound—do you know where it is?"

"No," was my blunt answer. I rarely took relaxing strolls around the village so I barely knew its layout.

"I'll show you," offered Shisui. "I've nothing to do anyway."

"I can do it," said Naori. "I wouldn't want to cut into your training time."

Shisui opened his mouth to argue but I cut across him, "Come on, both of you. We can go together if you want to see the Kurama clan's compound so much."

"A wise decision," Shisui sang, skipping ahead. I stared at his back dubiously. Sure enough, not three seconds later, he stopped and spun around to look at Naori. "Where's the place?"

Naori laughed. She took my hand, pulled me along and grabbed Shisui too. "Let's go!"

 **~{XI}~**


	12. A Sticky Situation

**12\. A Sticky Situation**

The size of clan compounds, I suspected, depended entirely on the clan's prestige in the village. Judging from the diminished size and few members roaming about the place, I suspected that the Kurama clan was low on the food chain.

"Here we are," declared Shisui, as if he was the one who'd guided us here. I rolled my eyes at him. "We can't go in, can we?"

"No," said Naori. "While we wait for Mirai-kun, why don't we head to Iriai's kissaten? I heard their anpan is to die for."

"Sure. We'll save some for you." Waving, Shisui left. I wondered why he even bothered following us. Weird guy.

Steeling my nerves, I stepped through the compound threshold, half-expecting something to blow up in my face. Nothing did so I proceeded to the main entrance. A servant greeted me with a flourished bow the moment I came close enough. "Namikaze-sama." I started, as I was not used to being addressed that way. "Uroko-sama has been waiting. This way, please."

I followed, tense, Hikenshi snug around me.

But the scene I was bowed into was anything but threatening: Uroko-sensei was feeding her daughter who sat, propped on a tower of pillows. For one heartwrenching moment, I saw Kushina bending over the bed to feed a younger me. The memory flitted away as Uroko turned around, smiling slightly when she saw me.

"Ah, Mirai-kun, you've come." She did not sound displeased, if she had called me here to talk about the disastrous mission at all. "Yakumo," she addressed her daughter, "this is the boy I've been telling you about, Mirai. Say hello, you two."

"Hello, you two," she snarked.

"Yo, kiddo," I said pleasantly. She blinked, taken aback, and abashed. Turning away, she mumbled a proper greeting this time. Without being prompted, I sat at the foot of her bed. She was quite young, being about three or four, and pitifully small and pale.

Had I looked like this, many years ago?

I must've been lame.

"This isn't going anywhere," I ventured after a few minutes of staring off with the crippled toddler. I couldn't even find it in myself to feel sympathy. There was only disdain and old shame: she reminded me of how pathetic of a creature I was long ago. I had clawed my way out of that state of dysphoria—never mind that I had entered another state of dysphoria—and I had no wish to be reminded of it again.

"It would seem so," said Uroko sadly. I made to leave but she added, "But I'm not done with you yet."

"If it's about the mission—"

"It's about your training," she interrupted calmly. She leaned over to kiss her daughter's temples. "I'll be back later. Ring the bell if you need anything, honey."

Eyeing me with great dislike, Yakumo said nothing as I departed with her mother. "What did you want?" I asked once we were out of that stifling room, a room full of disease and weakness. A scent I was all too familiar with in the early years of my life.

"We're heading to the clan's dōjō," replied Uroko. "I've noticed during spars that you're not that versed in taijutsu."

I tried not to feel insulted. "Thanks," I sniped sarcastically.

Uroko rounded a corner; the brief glimpse of her side-profile allowed me to see her smile. "I'm not criticizing you. As your sensei, I'm here to help you improve. Let me see your hands." We'd come to a stop before double sliding doors and from the sounds of clashing blades, I'd say we've reached out destination.

Warily, I handed her the requested appendage. "Hm, delicate bone structure," she murmured lowly. My eyebrow twitched. She let my hand go and pushed open the door.

"Uroko-sama!" chorused from all sides of the room, dropping what they were doing. About a dozen Kurama shinobi and all were men. Talk about masculinity at its finest. Curious gazes slicked across my skin, replaced quickly by apprehension and surprise when they recognized me. However, the business of their clan matriarch teaching the Kyūbi kid must've been old news because they mentioned nothing.

"This way, Mirai-kun." Uroko led me to the wall which was hung full of weapons: katana of varying lengths, kunai, shurikens of different types, ninja wires, bō staff, nunchaku, a matching pair of steel umbrella, gunbai and smaller fans, gauntlets and tonfas. "I thought I'd equip you with a weapon to aid you in close-ranged combat. Tell me, which appeals to you? Anything but the katana."

"Why not that?" I asked—that had been the first option that sprung to mind.

Uroko eyed me strangely. "ANBU operatives are instructed personally once they've joined the organization. There's no need for me to teach you."

"Who said I was going to be ANBU?"

"That …" Uroko hesitated, doubtful now. "That was what I've been led to believe. Tenzō-kun's the recruiter, is he not?"

"He's a spy." I sighed heavily. She hadn't known? He was about as subtle as a brick wall. Obstructive and totally impossible to miss walking through.

"Same difference," Uroko dropped the subject of my future career. "If you cannot make a decision, I can suggest something." I gave her the go ahead signal. She went for the wooden tonfas. "I trust you know how to hold it?" I accepted the weapons, frowning, still feeling almost everyone's eyes boring holes into me. "No, reverse your grip – yes, that way."

"These don't even make people bleed," I noted testily.

"That's for training," agreed Uroko patiently. "You can procure a pair of bladed tonfas if you ever chose to. Now, allow me to demonstrate." She grabbed another pair of tonfas on display – the Kurama clan were well equipped – and slid into a stance. "Izumi-kun, perhaps a demonstration?"

"Hai, Uroko-sama."

A man, short with a bald head and thickset built, the complete opposite of Uroko's appearance, stepped out of the crowd. He was wielding a katana in hand. There was only one moment of inspection, an inclination of Uroko's head for permission, before they clashed.

I initially doubted Uroko's chances and I even felt a slight pang of concern but the moment the spar began, my worries evaporated.

He struck and slashed – the most basic of offense – and she parried by raising her forearm. Her left arm reversed the grip on the tonfa, the longer end coming to face her opponent, and she drove it in. The man – Izumi – leapt out of the way and kicked at her chest: she crossed her arms, the tonfas parrying the strike, as she slid below him.

She switched her grip—a mere blur of speed—and jabbed the longer end of the tonfa that usually covered her forearm into a stab. Izumi was lucky he was quick or he would've been rolling on the floor howling in agony, clutching his privates.

Izumi landed, twisted, cutting a wide arc to chase her away because the tonfas were useless if she wasn't close enough to attack. Whether it was deliberate or not, I didn't know: Izumi had left his body wide open, his slash brought his katana high.

Uroko halted the blade's ascent and she forced her tonfa to slide down the blade instead, the screech of wood giving away beneath superior metal making me cringe, slipping into Izumi's guard and her other arm delivered a decisive strike to his sternum, knocking the breath out of him. She swept his feet out of him with a low, sweeping kick.

… I may have underestimated my teacher.

I clapped slowly, whistling. "Not bad, Sensei."

"Brat," she said fondly, springing to her feet and offering her clansman a hand. "Were you observing closely?"

"Very closely."

Uroko eyed me critically. "That's good because we're going to be multitasking." I cocked my head. Uroko signaled for her kinsmen to approach instead. "Materialize Hikenshi—or whatever you call your threads—Mirai-kun, we'll see how effectively you can use them." Once she saw the red filling the room from my back, she gestured to the wall of weapons. "Can you pick all the katana up?"

That was the easy part. What I found impossible to do was to control each one of them while more than dozen enemies jumped me.

"Stop, stop, stop!" I yelped, chucking three katana in their general direction to halt them. "I can't focus on both ends!"

I distinctly recalled Akasuna no Sasori and Chiyō controlling more than a hundred puppets with only two hands and Sasori could even manage using his _torso_. They were impressive and on a whole another level, I admit, but I had no plans on emulating them. I wasn't planning on becoming a puppeteer. And who knew if they had only managed it due to anime physics for awesomeness or if they had some sort of Hiden technique that wasn't available in Konoha.

Yagiza was a marionette that did not need chakra strings. In a way, I had surpassed Sunagakure's puppeteers. And from another angle, I was fouling their art. Matter of opinions really.

Uroko frowned but she did not call of the—insane—idea off immediately. I figured she had no idea how tough it was for me. "I suppose you can't run before crawling," she mused to herself. "Drop all but three katana, Mirai-kun. We'll go from there."

"It's impossible to control so many of them," I insisted. Did she not think I know my abilities better?

Uroko smiled like she heard what I was thinking. "If anything, we'll teach you how to handle many opponents at once. Boys, into your positions!"

"You're paying too much attention to me, Sensei," I huffed, sliding into a tense, battle-ready stance. Uroko's 'boys' had positioned them in and out of my sight. The systematic way they'd maneuvered meant that Uroko had planned this out not long ago.

"That's because Naori-chan has her own advanced clan training to attend to, and I'm sure Tenzō-kun's not slacking off. We can't have you lagging behind them now, can we?"

"No," I agreed, resigning myself to the inevitable.

Uroko waved her hand: a signal to start, and everyone exploded into motion.

Though I knew they were chūnin and jōnin in the mix, I pushed that thought away so as to not unnerve myself. Projectiles flew at me in a wide spread, targeting me 360-degree, and it was all Hikenshi could do to spin around the room, three katana swinging drunkenly; the movements made it seem like it had severe palsy.

Kunai—real steel, fuck—clattered harmlessly against the barrier of red threads around my torso. Unlike my mother's Kongō Fūsa where one chain could hold off a barrage of kunai, my one thread would only be cut through: I needed a mass, a braid of red, to sufficiently counterattack.

What I lacked in quality, I made up for with quantity.

A sea of red poured from my back—Uroko's brow arched, she'd never seen me display so much of Hikenshi before in previous training sessions—and mashed into a thick, fat tail that swiped the projectiles away. I skidded around to engage them in direct combat; I wasn't a long-ranged fighter.

The tonfas were awkward in my hands—I wasn't used to it—but I did try to replicate Uroko's moves. Two men clashed with me; tonfa in each arm held them at bay. The others stopped to stare and I knew this courtesy was only during the very start of the training, a show of mercy before they pushed the training into the merciless grounds.

Their superior strength made me discount trying to hold him back for long. I tucked my arms in and ducked between them, spinning away, striking the back of their knees. They fought barehanded but their every hit was stronger than what my bare fist could've dealt. It was infuriating.

Block—elbow strike—deflect—uppercut—smack! Ow, damn it!

…

It was well past twilight by the time Uroko decided to let me off the hook. "You can stay for dinner anytime," she offered but I declined because I hadn't notified Rin. "Maybe next time then." She wasn't disheartened. "And Yakumo can get to know you better."

"Uh-huh." I silenced my doubts about that, mainly because I didn't have the energy to argue anymore after an exhausting training. My legs and arms felt like jelly, so heavy with weariness that I didn't even jump when I saw Shisui crouching at the entrance of the compound.

"I thought you were kidnapped!" said Shisui before I could speak. He stood as I got closer. "What—whoa!" I'd slumped onto him. Voice panicky, "Hey, you're not hurt, are you? You're sweaty and beaten up! What happened?"

"Training," I yawned, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "Carry me home and you can have dinner with us. Rin likes overfeeding me anyway, I'm sure we have plenty to share."

"Who am I to deny free food?" Shisui laughed, shifting me easily onto his back, motion as fluid as water. "It sucks to eat alone, y'know?"

"How long have you been alone?" I asked, propping my chin on his right shoulder, eyes half-open, not really registering the darkened streets Shisui walked down.

"The third anniversary of my mother's death is next week." I stirred feebly. "Come with me? I want to introduce my newest friend to her—she's always so worried that I'll die friendless. Since the clan sorta kicks me to the curb, I spent my childhood alone."

"Pathetic," I snickered, kicking my legs slowly to get the feel back into them. Shisui shifted his grip.

"You haven't heard the last of it," laughed Shisui. "Sometimes, I sit outside restaurants and look at others dining."

His statement made me wonder if, canonically, Naruto had done the same too. I tightened my grip on him protectively, as if that could be the physical bulwark against the enemy that was loneliness, burying my face into his broad shoulder. His shoulder blades dug into my front, jutting out more prominently than Itachi's liquid-smooth back.

"Don't … do something that stupid; those dumb idiots aren't worth looking at," I mumbled. "Come to me and Rin instead."

"For free?" Shisui perked up; I could imagine his ears twitching.

I snorted and did not answer. Friends, indeed.

 **~{XII}~**

"Argh, where _are_ we going?" demanded Hana angrily, her puppies nipping at our hills, as we scaled the short hill to reach Konoha's cemetery. She hushed immediately upon the sight of the white grey tombstones through the gates. It was early in the morning and it was to my luck I caught Hana on her way to school just as I was heading here.

Hana glanced uncertainly at me. "Mirai?"

"There's someone I want you to meet," I told her, pulling her hand to get her moving. "Puppies, stay here. Only humans are permitted in."

Two Uchiha boys stood waiting at a grave at the sixteenth row and furthest to the right. Hana went even stiffer at the sight of them.

Itachi raised his head first, cocking a brow in askance. Both he and Shisui had laid their respective bouquets on the woman's—Uchiha Shizuka's—grave and shrugging my apology for my tardiness, I placed my bouquet next to theirs. Hana shuffled uncomfortably.

Shisui finished murmuring his prayer before looking up and inspecting the only girl among us. His smile was friendly and curious. "Who're you?" he inquired innocently, eyes on me.

"She's Hana, an annoying ex-classmate of mine." I tugged her forward. It was so unlike her to be cowed by strange boys. To be fair, Itachi didn't fall under the 'boy-next-door' category and could be quite intimidating. As he grew older, he'd be the sorta guy you skirt around in the streets—especially with that stupid straw hat and Akatsuki cloak. "Shisui and Itachi. You know them now."

"Why bring me here?" she asked.

"To be friends. Shisui needs them, the poor boy." Lower, only for her ears, I muttered, "And you're in desperate need of a boyfriend."

Hana's foot swung out at me. I didn't let it connect and she shot me a withering glare. A chuckle bubbled past my mouth. "It's nice to meet you!" Shisui snatched Hana's fist that was aimed at my face, forcing her to unfurl her fingers, and shook her arm enthusiastically. "You've got to meet my mother too; Mirai, over here!"

"Don't they make a striking pair," I snarked as Itachi pushed me towards them, coming to stand, shoulder-to-shoulder beside me: we were a straight profile of four. It was odd to be standing on top of a dead, unknown woman's remains; I knew nothing of her other than the fact she'd fallen in love with a man her clan strongly disapproved of and had a son through that union.

I slung an arm around Hana's shoulders to calm her down: I was, to her, at least someone familiar. She didn't know Itachi well and Shisui was even more of a stranger.

She calmed, her shoulders loosened. She turned her head and I was surprised to see her mouth pulled into a smile. Hana never smiled at me like that, ever.

…

I think she likes graveyards. What a weirdo.

 **~{XII}~**

"I'm positive we're well-equipped for a C-rank," I inserted confidently. Yamato nodded and Naori mimicked him even more enthusiastically. Behind me, I squeezed Tora the wildcat torturously with my red threads. The Daimyō's wife, Shimiji, had yet to arrive to retrieve it. Ostensibly because the cat had never been so quick to be caught before.

I was feeling pretty smug about it. While most teams needed at least six hours to catch Tora, we finished in an hour.

All thanks to teamwork: Yamato was faster than an ordinary genin; Naori could genjutsu it into obedience; I could restrain it once it was caught so it would have no chance of escaping again. We just broke a record.

"Well, Hokage-sama?" Uroko wondered musingly, glancing between the three of us and to the old shinobi.

Hiruzen's mouth was quirked wryly. "Why not? As long as you children behave yourself."

I tapped the hitai-ate around my bicep pointedly. Shinobi were no children; we became legal adults the moment we received our hitai-ate.

"A simple escort mission, Hokage-sama, if we may," said Uroko. "I'd like to see how my students fare in the wild. Naori-chan and Mirai-kun have very little experience in survival training."

True, since survival training—encompassing how to hunt, discern poisonous plants, reading the stars for directions and navigating the forest with no resources—was covered in third year up until the last year. Rin and I had a fair share of days spent in the Forest of Death so I thought I could do alright when handling the forest out of Konoha.

The Hokage seemed to agree with Uroko's reasoning, rummaging in the pile of scrolls he had stacked beside him. "Yes … this just arrived, requiring haste on our part for an escort … an art thief."

"Wait, we're going to be protecting an art thief and ensure he gets away with his _stolen goods_?" I couldn't stop the incredulous question from being blurted out.

Hiruzen met my eyes over the scroll he'd unfurled. "Yes," he said simply, rolling it up and tossing it to Uroko who caught it swiftly. "The mission has been cited in detail, I'm sure Uroko-san can bring you up to date. Your client goes by the name of Noumi Ashikaga."

"I'm betting my right arm it's an alias," I muttered, turning away, previous exhilaration drained. Why was I surprised that we'd accept jobs from criminals and nobles alike?

Apparently, I had yet to completely rid myself of my past life's influence. No shopkeeper would hire a criminal or art thief on Earth. In the Elemental Nations, as long as you had the money, and shinobi as your allies, anything goes.

"When do we leave?" asked Yamato. Naori was humming under her breath, swaying side by side. Lost in daydreams perhaps. I hope she had no delusions about an escort mission being exciting because she'd only be severely disappointed in the end.

"Meet me at the main entrance in an hour. Pack accordingly, team!"

"Hai, Sensei!"

…

Rin helped me pack. She fussed over the state of my weapons and everything, forcing me to bring bentos packed in storage scrolls. She was really acting like my mother. Mildly exasperated, I assured her repeatedly that it was going to be short, no longer than a week.

"And Rin?"

"Did you miss anything?" asked the iryō-nin in response, looking around at me.

I narrowed my eyes at her. "I don't want Shiranui Genma stepping foot in here."

A dull flush crept up her neck to her cheeks. "Mirai!" she protested redundantly.

"I'll know if he came," I said and in spite of the menace I tried to inject in my tone, I couldn't keep myself from grinning at her expression. "I always know."

"Just go. Shoo!" She swatted at me playfully.

I danced around her halfhearted swipe, tiptoeing to kiss her cheek in farewell. "See you soon," I assured her. I left, sure that nothing would go wrong.

…

Then, everything went to hell.

 **~{XII}~**

Noumi Ashikaga gave me bad vibes.

At first glance, nothing seemed off about him. He was a stringy man, looked as if he'd never lifted anything heavier than stolen paintings. Everything about him was stringy: his tawny hair was the color of puke and was severely disheveled, his clothes hung off him loosely, his limbs were long like strings and hung awkwardly. And he was exceedingly pale. Looked more like a cancer patient than an art thief to me.

I was flanking Noumi's right, Naori to the other side with Yamato taking up the rear and Uroko heading the troop.

Naori was happily chatting to Nanami and Shiomi—two of her many imaginary friends, I ignored her and she did the same to me—but Yamato was clearly more grounded than my female teammate was: he kept shooting sideway glances at Noumi. Though I knew he was Danzō's spy, I could hardly stop the relief I felt. He was ANBU, he had Mokuton: he could overwhelm any unexpected elements we'd encounter in this mission. Hopefully. Unless he had been handed a second mission to sabotage us and assassinate us.

Just to be sure, I briefed his mind. His suspicion and wariness of our client wafted to me in waves; he was also baffled by Naori's attitude and he wasn't thinking of me in particular.

I looked to Uroko to see what she made of this but she walked ahead. Only the tense line in her shoulders gave her away.

It was just an escort mission … what's wrong? Don't tell me we really inherited the original Team 7's shitty luck due to the name: was the team cursed?

I should check Noumi Ashikaga. I turned to him, to glare right into his eyes and make him spill the worst of his secrets when the air shifted.

Danger and violent movement rent the air: Naori cried, "Shiomi, get out of the way!" and her kunai was cutting a crescent moon in air, halting the projectiles that clattered to the ground.

"Owwie…" Blood trickled from her thumb, where a shuriken had bounced off-course when she deflected. Naori only spared her injury a brief glance before she sucked on the blood, turning to face her assailant.

 _Our_ assailants.

Yamato had drawn his katana.

I was too busy gaping at the freak before me: a drag queen with a tuft of pink hair peeking out of the powder blue, full-body slimy-looking suit that covered everything but his face, he wore green lipstick and honestly, he had the face of a crudely drawn chicken.

Then, mouth slightly agape in horror, I turned to see his companions. The shorter, stockier companion his was also male and was as odd. He looked like a (just slightly) less ugly version of Frankenstein with vomit-green skin and pasty white hair. His eyes were covered behind orange lenses of blue-framed glasses. His wrist was armed with a ring of—

Red swathed me, blocking the barrage of smoke pellets his bracelet—wrist rocket launcher?—expelled. I scrambled away at the thick cloud of smoke that was left in the projectiles' wake.

It was a sad day indeed for humanity that the only one considered remotely normal-looking was a man with dull purple hair and grey eyes set above a gas mask. And the gas mask wasn't going to set a trend anytime soon.

"Mirai-kun, stop gapping and protect the client!"

"They're shinobi!" I said, my first response to Uroko's command. "C-ranks don't entail fighting shinobi! Noumi lied to us—we have no obligation to protect him!"

"Calculating thing, aren't you?" Frankenstein smiled coldly. "We're here for the brats."

"Get Noumi-san out of the way!" shouted Naori, sounding the sanest since we started this mission, as she leapt to engage Drag Queen.

"Messhū Enrō!" Gas spewed from Gas Mask's every orifice. Why was I even surprised? Cursing, I continued deflecting the smoke pellets Frankenstein launched at me. A long-ranged fighter was easily dealt with once we closed the distance. Except that the smoke grenades was contributing to Gas Mask's smokescreen.

I had no way of seeing through obscuration and panic flared because I hadn't been trained for it.

I didn't even have time to puzzle out why we were being attacked. The next thing my mind registered was that I was being suffocated, right after Frankenstein shouted his jutsu to the skies: "Enryū!"

Smoke … smoke dragon! That meant I was being smothered by smoke … already, the smell of it was drying my throat and mouth.

"Mokuton: Mokusatsu Shibari no Jutsu!"

Yamato's voice was distant but he was fighting—that's something. I failed to hear signs of Naori.

 _Inton: Daitoppa!_

Think of frost, snow, ice—the mental command worked pitifully: the icy gust of hail I exhaled tunneled through smoke, moisturizing enough to deter the smoke, not really freezing it. I backed away, noticing that the smoke dragon was fat and bloated in its stomach. I breathed cold air even as my right arm snatched Yagiza's scroll and unsealed it with a burst of chakra.

"Yagiza, find Naori!"

The masked extension of my will didn't even nod, plunging through the smoke and becoming a blur of black. I focused on my spiritual energy, seeking out the foreign emotion closest to me, and I pursued him. Frankenstein scowled through the smoke when he saw me.

"Go boom already!" he snapped and his eight-barreled launcher fired several more annoying smoke dragons.

What was smoke weak against?

I poured spiritual chakra into the back of my throat and pushed the built-up chakra— _Inton: Mizurappa!_ —and though I spat a great gust of wind, the jutsu doused the dragons, rending them useless. Water was the easiest—I bath and I drink every day, the texture of water was something I was intimately familiar with. A feral grin curved my mouth.

I sprang across the distance and pounced, my father's Hiraishin kunai slamming through his barrel, rendering it useless. I hacked: it tumbled off, the third prong cut into Frankenstein's hand and he howled. I swept his legs out from under him.

I tried to keep my mind blank. Thinking led to fear, and fear would have me quaking. Not that I wasn't shaking. My grip on my kunai was flimsy, weak and sweaty. I perspired like I was walking through Suna's desert, veins shot through with adrenalin, and my body quivered through tautness. An icy sensation—excitement and panic and fear coalesced together—jittered throughout my whole body as I faced my opponent.

He fumbled but did not lose ground as quickly as I'd hoped. But his punch was clumsy and his footwork needed, well, work. "Kagiri! Nurari!" he screamed as I closed in on him. Ah, I see. He counted on his teammates for backup.

Red braids snapped at him, bounding him and raising him high only to bring him crashing into the ground. Restrained him. I slammed the hilt of my kunai into his skull and he went still.

"Bah!" Something wet and slimy crashed into my side; my threads came out wet and sticky. I made to jump away—my legs tensed to spring—but the slime of blue expanded, like a yawning mouth, snapping shut, trapping me.

I flailed and crashed onto my back, flattened onto the ground by slime. It was bloody disgusting. "Yagiza!"

You must've noticed how I did not call for Yamato or Sensei. Simple. I created Yagiza to assist me. I would show weakness to myself, would be willing to admit it to an extension of myself and require their help. But never—never would I rely on others.

I felt Yagiza squirming at the back of my mind and I knew it then, that he and Naori were stuck in the same situation as I was. I gnashed my teeth in thwarted fury. The smoke was clearing—the sound of Yamato's battle with two of them was dying—and I scrambled for a plan.

I could, theoretically, freeze the slime obstructing me but unless someone smashed through the ice, I'd be stuck. I had no body strength to burst free on my own. First, free Yagiza; his physical strength was superior to my own. My head turned instinctively in the direction where I sensed my creation.

Drawing a sharp, huge breath inflated my chest. I blew the accumulated chakra, summoning the memory of ice cubes down my back, of how it felt like to hold numbing ice in hand and shattering it in my grip, to power the technique. Even a small spot would be enough, I thought desperately. Something crackled as ice glittered and encased something. The sound of ice shattering had never sounded so beautiful.

I'd just freeze the slimy substance on my chest when the clear-cut sound of hands clapping made me strain my neck to see who it was coming from.

"Well, well, well … it seems that this visit in person has not been wasted after all."

Flat on my back, my sight inverted; not the way I planned to encounter _him_.

"You … are the splitting image of the Fourth … Mirai-kun."

And, tearing through the flesh and mask of Noumi Ashikaga, was Orochimaru in all his glory.

* * *

 **19.5.2017**

I was rifling through my pen-drive's files when I found this chapter, completed, and a few more for Bad Apple. For the record, I haven't written anything Naruto-related for months. Ever since the manga ended, I've felt my interest waning drastically. But I'll post the chapters I've typed up a long time ago in the next couple of days.

Feel free to share ideas or comments.


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